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@@ -1,36 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of First on the Moon, by Jeff Sutton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: First on the Moon - -Author: Jeff Sutton - -Release Date: July 17, 2013 [EBook #43235] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRST ON THE MOON *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43235 *** FIRST on the MOON @@ -43,7 +11,7 @@ Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net FIRST ON THE MOON - Copyright (C), 1958, by Ace Books, Inc. + Copyright ©, 1958, by Ace Books, Inc. All Rights Reserved @@ -5980,7 +5948,7 @@ held down his voice. "About time," he said laconically. -"Don't give me that blase crap," the Colonel said cheerfully. "I know +"Don't give me that blasé crap," the Colonel said cheerfully. "I know exactly how you feel." He informed him that the enemy was proclaiming to the world they had established a colony on the moon, and had formally requested the United Nations to recognize their sovereignty over the @@ -7217,360 +7185,4 @@ He was also Secretary-General of the United Nations. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: First on the Moon - -Author: Jeff Sutton - -Release Date: July 17, 2013 [EBook #43235] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRST ON THE MOON *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - FIRST on the MOON - - by JEFF SUTTON - - - ACE BOOKS, INC. - 1120 Avenue of the Americas - New York 36, N.Y. - - FIRST ON THE MOON - - Copyright ©, 1958, by Ace Books, Inc. - - All Rights Reserved - - Printed in U. S. A. - - - TO SANDY - - - - - SUICIDE RACE TO LUNA - - - The four men had been scrutinized, watched, investigated, and - intensively trained for more than a year. They were the best men to - be found for that first, all-important flight to the Moon--the - pioneer manned rocket that would give either the East or the West - control over the Earth. - - Yet when the race started, Adam Crag found that he had a saboteur - among his crew ... a traitor! Such a man could give the Reds - possession of Luna, and thereby dominate the world it circled. - - Any one of the other three could be the hidden enemy, and if he - didn't discover the agent soon--even while they were roaring on - rocket jets through outer space--then Adam Crag, his expedition, and - his country would be destroyed! - - - - -PROLOGUE - - -One of the rockets was silver; three were ashen gray. Each nested in a -different spot on the great Western Desert. All were long, tapered, -sisters except for color. In a way they represented the first, and last, -of an era, with exotic propellants, a high mass ratio and three-stage -design. Yet they were not quite alike. One of the sisters had within her -the artifacts the human kind needed for life--a space cabin high in the -nose. The remaining sisters were drones, beasts of burden, but beasts -which carried scant payloads considering their bulk. - -One thing they had in common--destination. They rested on their launch -pads, with scaffolds almost cleared, heads high and proud. Soon they -would flash skyward, one by one, seeking a relatively small haven on a -strange bleak world. The world was the moon; the bleak place was called -Arzachel, a crater--stark, alien, with tall cliffs brooding over an ashy -plain. - -Out on the West Coast a successor to the sisters was shaping up--a great -ship of a new age, with nuclear drive and a single stage. But the -sisters could not wait for their successor. Time was running out. - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -The room was like a prison--at least to Adam Crag. It was a square with -a narrow bunk, a battered desk, two straight-back chairs and little -else. Its one small window overlooked the myriad quonsets and buildings -of Burning Sands Base from the second floor of a nearly empty dormitory. - -There was a sentry at the front of the building, another at the rear. -Silent alert men who never spoke to Crag--seldom acknowledged his -movements to and from the building--yet never let a stranger approach -the weathered dorm without sharp challenge. Night and day they were -there. From his window he could see the distant launch site and, by -night, the batteries of floodlights illumining the metal monster on the -pad. But now he wasn't thinking of the rocket. He was fretting; fuming -because of a call from Colonel Michael Gotch. - -"Don't stir from the room," Gotch had crisply ordered on the phone. He -had hung up without explanation. That had been two hours before. - -Crag had finished dressing--he had a date--idly wondering what was in -the Colonel's mind. The fretting had only set in when, after more than -an hour, Gotch had failed to show. Greg's liberty had been restricted to -one night a month. One measly night, he thought. Now he was wasting it, -tossing away the precious hours. Waiting. Waiting for what? - -"I'm a slave," he told himself viciously; "slave to a damned bird -colonel." His date wouldn't wait--wasn't the waiting kind. But he -couldn't leave. - -He stopped pacing long enough to look at himself in the cracked mirror -above his desk. The face that stared back was lean, hard, unlined--skin -that told of wind and sun, not brown nor bronze but more of a mahogany -red. Just now the face was frowning. The eyes were wide-spaced, hazel, -the nose arrogant and hawkish. A thin white scar ran over one cheek -ending. - -His mind registered movement behind him. He swiveled around, flexing his -body, balanced on his toes, then relaxed, slightly mortified. - -Gotch--Colonel Michael Gotch--stood just inside the door eyeing him -tolerantly. A flush crept over Crag's face. Damn Gotch and his velvet -feet, he thought. But he kept the thought concealed. - -The expression on Gotch's face was replaced by a wooden mask. He studied -the lean man by the mirror for a moment, then flipped his cap on the bed -and sat down without switching his eyes. - -He said succinctly. "You're it." - -"I've got it?" Crag gave an audible sigh of relief. Gotch nodded without -speaking. - -"What about Temple?" - -"Killed last night--flattened by a truck that came over the center-line. -On an almost deserted highway just outside the base," Gotch added. He -spoke casually but his eyes were not casual. They were unfathomable -black pools. Opaque and hard. Crag wrinkled his brow inquiringly. - -"Accident?" - -"You know better than that. The truck was hot, a semi with bum plates, -and no driver when the cops got there." His voice turned harsh. "No ... -it was no accident." - -"I'm sorry," Crag said quietly. He hadn't known Temple personally. He -had been just a name--a whispered name. One of three names, to be exact: -Romer, Temple, Crag. Each had been hand-picked as possible pilots of the -Aztec, a modified missile being rushed to completion in a last ditch -effort to beat the Eastern World in the race for the moon. They had been -separately indoctrinated, tested, trained; each had virtually lived in -one of the scale-size simulators of the Aztec's space cabin, and had -been rigorously schooled for the operation secretly referred to as "Step -One." But they had been kept carefully apart. There had been a time when -no one--unless it were the grim-faced Gotch--knew which of the three was -first choice. - -Romer had died first--killed as a bystander in a brawl. So the police -said. Crag had suspected differently. Now Temple. The choice, after all, -had not been the swarthy Colonel's to make. Somehow the knowledge -pleased him. Gotch interrupted his thoughts. - -"Things are happening. The chips are down. Time has run out, Adam." -While he clipped the words out he weighed Crag, as if seeking some clue -to his thoughts. His face said that everything now depended upon the -lean man with the hairline scar across his cheek. His eyes momentarily -wondered if the lean man could perform what man never before had done. -But his lips didn't voice the doubt. After a moment he said: - -"We know the East is behind us in developing an atomic spaceship. Quite -a bit behind. We picked up a lot from some of our atomic sub work--that -and our big missiles. But maybe the knowledge made us lax." He added -stridently: - -"Now ... they're ready to launch." - -"Now?" - -"Now!" - -"I didn't think they were that close." - -"Intelligence tells us they've modified a couple of T-3's--the big ICBM -model. We just got a line on it ... almost too late." Gotch smiled -bleakly. "So we've jumped our schedule, at great risk. It's your baby," -he added. - -Crag said simply; "I'm glad of the chance." - -"You should be. You've hung around long enough," Gotch said dryly. His -eyes probed Crag. "I only hope you've learned enough ... are ready." - -"Plenty ready," snapped Crag. - -"I hope so." - -Gotch got to his feet, a square fiftyish man with cropped iron-gray -hair, thick shoulders and weather-roughened skin. Clearly he wasn't a -desk colonel. - -"You've got a job, Adam." His voice was unexpectedly soft but he -continued to weigh Crag for a long moment before he picked up his cap -and turned toward the door. - -"Wait," he said. He paused, listening for a moment before he opened it, -then slipped quietly into the hall, closing the door carefully behind -him. - -He's like a cat, Crag thought for the thousandth time, watching the -closed door. He was a man who seemed forever listening; a heavy hulking -man who walked on velvet feet; a man with opaque eyes who saw everything -and told nothing. Gotch would return. - -Despite the fact the grizzled Colonel had been his mentor for over a -year he felt he hardly knew the man. He was high up in the missile -program--missile security, Crag had supposed--yet he seemed to hold -power far greater than that of a security officer. He seemed, in fact, -to have full charge of the Aztec project--Step One--even though Dr. -Kenneth Walmsbelt was its official director. The difference was, the -nation knew Walmsbelt. He talked with congressmen, pleaded for money, -carried his program to the newspapers and was a familiar figure on the -country's TV screens. He was the leading exponent of the -space-can't-wait philosophy. But few people knew Gotch; and fewer yet -his connections. He was capable, competent, and to Crag's way of -thinking, a tough monkey, which pretty well summarized his knowledge of -the man. - -He felt the elation welling inside him, growing until it was almost a -painful pleasure. It had been born of months and months of hope, over a -year during which he had scarcely dared hope. Now, because a man had -died.... - -He sat looking at the ceiling, thinking, trying to still the inner -tumult. Only outwardly was he calm. He heard footsteps returning. Gotch -opened the door and entered, followed by a second man. Crag started -involuntarily, half-rising from his chair. - -He was looking at himself! - -"Crag, meet Adam Crag." The Colonel's voice and face were -expressionless. Crag extended his hand, feeling a little silly. - -"Glad to know you." - -The newcomer acknowledged the introduction with a grin--the same kind of -lopsided grin the real Crag wore. More startling was the selfsame -hairline scar traversing his cheek; the same touch of cockiness in the -set of his face. - -Gotch said, "I just wanted you to get a good look at yourself. Crag -here"--he motioned his hand toward the newcomer--"is your official -double. What were you planning for tonight, your last night on earth?" - -"I have a date with Ann. Or had," he added sourly. He twisted his head -toward Gotch as the Colonel's words sunk home. "Last night?" - -Gotch disregarded the question. "For what?" - -"Supper and dancing at the Blue Door." - -"Then?" - -"Take her home, if it's any of your damned business," snapped Crag. "I -wasn't planning on staying, if that's what you mean." - -"I know ... I know, we have you on a chart," Gotch said amiably. "We -know every move you've made since you wet your first diapers. Like that -curvy little brunette secretary out in San Diego, or that blonde night -club warbler you were rushing in Las Vegas." Crag flushed. The Colonel -eyed him tolerantly. - -"And plenty more," he added. He glanced at Crag's double. "I'm sure your -twin will be happy to fill in for you tonight." - -"Like hell he will," gritted Crag. The room was quiet for a moment. - -"As I said, he'll fill in for you." - -Crag grinned crookedly. "Ann won't go for it. She's used to the real -article." - -"We're not giving her a chance to snafu the works," Gotch said grimly. -"She's in protective custody. We have a double for her, too." - -"Mind explaining?" - -"Not a bit. Let's face the facts and admit both Romer and Temple were -murdered. That leaves only you. The enemy isn't about to let us get the -Aztec into space. You're the only pilot left who's been trained for the -big jump--the only man with the specialized know-how. That's why you're -on someone's list. Perhaps, even, someone here at the Base ... or on the -highway ... or in town. I don't know when or how but I do know this: -You're a marked monkey." - -Gotch added flatly: "I don't propose to let you get murdered." - -"How about him?" Crag nodded toward his double. The man smiled faintly. - -"That's what he's paid for," Gotch said unfeelingly. His lips curled -sardonically. "All the heroes aren't in space." - -Crag flushed. Gotch had a way of making him uncomfortable as no other -man ever had. The gentle needle. But it was true. The Aztec was his -baby. Gotch's role was to see that he lived long enough to get it into -space. The rest was up to him. Something about the situation struck him -as humorous. He looked at his double with a wry grin. - -"Home and to bed early," he cautioned. "Don't forget you've got my -reputation to uphold." - -"Go to hell," his double said amiably. - -"Okay, let's get down to business," Gotch growled. "I've got a little to -say." - - * * * * * - -Long after they left Crag stood at the small window, looking out over -the desert. Somewhere out there was the Aztec, a silver arrow crouched -in its cradle, its nose pointed toward the stars. He drew the picture in -his mind. She stood on her tail fins; a six-story-tall needle braced by -metal catwalks and guard rails; a cousin twice-removed to the great -nuclear weapons which guarded Fortress America. He had seen her at -night, under the batteries of floor lights, agleam with a milky -radiance; a virgin looking skyward, which, in fact, she was. Midway -along her length her diameter tapered abruptly, tapered again beyond the -three-quarters point. Her nose looked slender compared with her body, -yet it contained a space cabin with all the panoply needed to sustain -life beyond the atmosphere. - -His thoughts were reverent, if not loving. Save for occasional too-brief -intervals with Ann, the ship had dominated his life for over a year. He -knew her more intimately, he thought, than a long-married man knows his -wife. - -He had never ceased to marvel at the Aztec's complexity. Everything -about the rocket spoke of the future. She was clearly designed to -perform in a time not yet come, at a place not yet known. She would fly, -watching the stars, continuously measuring the angle between them, -computing her way through the abyss of space. Like a woman she would -understand the deep currents within her, the introspective sensing of -every force which had an effect upon her life. She would measure -gravitation, acceleration and angular velocity with infinite precision. -She would count these as units of time, perform complex mathematical -equations, translate them into course data, and find her way unerringly -across the purple-black night which separated her from her assignation -with destiny. She would move with the certainty of a woman fleeing to -her lover. Yes, he thought, he would put his life in the lady's hands. -He would ride with her on swift wings. But he would be her master. - - * * * * * - -His mood changed. He turned from the window thinking it was a hell of a -way to spend his last night. Last night on earth, he corrected wryly. He -couldn't leave the room, couldn't budge, didn't know where Ann was. No -telephone. He went to bed wondering how he'd ever let himself get -snookered into the deal. Here he was, young, with a zest for life and a -stacked-up gal on the string. And what was he doing about it? Going to -the moon, that's what. Going to some damned hell-hole called Arzachel, -all because a smooth bird colonel had pitched him a few soft words. -Sucker! - -His lips twisted in a crooked grin. Gotch had seduced him by describing -his mission as an "out-of-this-world opportunity." Those had been -Gotch's words. Well, that was Arzachel. And pretty quick it would be -Adam Crag. Out-of-this-world Crag. Just now the thought wasn't so -appealing. - - * * * * * - -Sleep didn't come easy. At Gotch's orders he had turned in early, at the -unheard hour of seven. Getting to sleep was another matter. It's -strange, he thought, he didn't have any of the feelings Doc Weldon, the -psychiatrist, had warned him of. He wasn't nervous, wasn't afraid. Yet -before another sun had set he'd be driving the Aztec up from earth, into -the loneliness of space, to a bleak crater named Arzachel. He would face -the dangers of intense cosmic radiation, chance meteor swarms, and human -errors in calculation which could spell disaster. It would be the first -step in the world race for control of the Solar System--a crucial race -with the small nations of the world watching for the winner. Watching -and waiting to see which way to lean. - -He was already cut off from mankind, imprisoned in a small room with -the momentous zero hour drawing steadily nearer. Strange, he thought, -there had been a time when his career had seemed ended, washed up, -finished, the magic of the stratosphere behind him for good. Sure, he'd -resigned from the Air Force at his own free will, even if his C. O. had -made the pointed suggestion. Because he hadn't blindly followed orders. -Because he'd believed in making his own decisions when the chips were -down. "Lack of _esprit de corps_," his C. O. had termed it. - -He'd been surprised that night--it was over a year ago now--that Colonel -Gotch had contacted him. (Just when he was wondering where he might get -a job. He hadn't liked the prosaic prospects of pushing passengers -around the country in some jet job.) Sure, he'd jumped at the offer. But -the question had never left his mind. _Why had Gotch selected him?_ The -Aztec, a silver needle plunging through space followed by her drones, -all in his tender care. He was planning the step-by-step procedure of -take-off when sleep came. - - - - -CHAPTER 2 - - -Crag woke with a start, sensing he was not alone. The sound came -again--a key being fitted into a lock. He started from bed as the door -swung open. - -"Easy. It's me--Gotch." Crag relaxed. A square solid figure took form. - -"Don't turn on the light." - -"Okay. What gives?" - -"One moment." Gotch turned back toward the door and beckoned. Another -figure glided into the room--a shadow in the dim light. Crag caught the -glint of a uniform. Air Force officer, he thought. - -Gotch said crisply; "Out of bed." - -He climbed out, standing alongside the bed in his shorts, wondering at -the Colonel's cloak-and-dagger approach. - -"Okay, Major, it's your turn," Gotch said. - -The newcomer--Crag saw he was a major--methodically stripped down to his -shorts and got into bed without a word. Crag grinned, wondering how the -Major liked his part in Step One. It was scarcely a lead role. - -Gotch cut into his thoughts. "Get dressed." He indicated the Major's -uniform. Crag donned the garments silently. When he had finished the -Colonel walked around him in the dark, studying him from all angles. - -"Seems to fit very well," he said finally. "All right, let's go." - -Crag followed him from the room wondering what the unknown Major must be -thinking. He wanted to ask about his double but refrained. Long ago he -had learned there was a time to talk, and a time to keep quiet. This was -the quiet time. At the outer door four soldiers sprang from the darkness -and boxed them in. A chauffeur jumped from a waiting car and opened the -rear door. At the last moment Crag stepped aside and made a mock bow. - -"After you, Colonel." His voice held a touch of sarcasm. - -Gotch grunted and climbed into the rear seat and he followed. The -chauffeur blinked his lights twice before starting the engine. Somewhere -ahead a car pulled away from the curb. They followed, leaving the four -soldiers behind. Crag twisted his body and looked curiously out the rear -window. Another car dogged their wake. Precautions, always precautions, -he thought. Gotch had entered with an Air Force officer and had -ostensibly left with one; ergo, it must be the same officer. He -chuckled, thinking he had more doubles than a movie star. - -They sped through the night with the escorts fore and aft. Gotch was a -silent hulking form on the seat beside him. It's his zero hour, too, -Crag thought. The Colonel had tossed the dice. Now he was waiting for -their fall, with his career in the pot. After a while Gotch said -conversationally: - -"You'll report in at Albrook, Major. I imagine you'll be getting in a -bit of flying from here on out." - -Talking for the chauffeur's benefit, Crag thought. Good Lord, did every -move have to be cloak and dagger? Aloud he said: - -"Be good to get back in the air again. Perhaps anti-sub patrol, eh?" - -"Very likely." - -They fell silent again. The car skimmed west on Highway 80, leaving the -silver rocket farther behind with every mile. Where to and what next? He -gave up trying to figure the Colonel's strategy. One thing he was sure -of. The hard-faced man next to him knew exactly what he was doing. If it -was secret agent stuff, then that's the way it had to be played. - - * * * * * - -He leaned back and thought of the task ahead--the rocket he had lived -with for over a year. Now the marriage would be consummated. Every -detail of the Aztec was vivid in his mind. Like the three great motors -tucked triangularly between her tail fins, each a tank equipped with a -flaring nozzle to feed in hot gases under pressure. He pictured the fuel -tanks just forward of the engines; the way the fuels were mixed, -vaporized, forced into the fireports where they would ignite and react -explosively, generating the enormous volumes of flaming hot gas to drive -out through the jet tubes and provide the tremendous thrust needed to -boost her into the skies. Between the engines and fuel tanks was a maze -of machinery--fuel lines, speed controllers, electric motors. - -He let his mind rove over the rocket thinking that before many hours -had passed he would need every morsel of the knowledge he had so -carefully gathered. Midway where the hull tapered was a joint, the -separation point between the first and second stages. The second stage -had one engine fed by two tanks. The exterior of the second stage was -smooth, finless, for it was designed to operate at the fringe of space -where the air molecules were widely spaced; but it could be steered by -small deflectors mounted in its blast stream. - -The third stage was little more than a space cabin riding between the -tapered nose cone and a single relatively low-thrust engine. Between the -engine and tanks was a maze of turbines, pumps, meters, motors, wires. A -generator provided electricity for the ship's electric and electronic -equipment; this in turn was spun by a turbine driven by the explosive -decomposition of hydrogen peroxide. Forward of this was the Brain, a -complex guidance mechanism which monitored engine performance, kept -track of speed, computed course. All that was needed was the human hand. -His hand. - - * * * * * - -They traveled several hours with only occasional words, purring across -the flat sandy wastes at a steady seventy. The cars boxing them in kept -at a steady distance. - -Crag watched the yellow headlights sweep across the sage lining the -highway, giving an odd illusion of movement. Light and shadow danced in -eerie patterns. The chauffeur turned onto a two-lane road heading north. -Alpine Base, Crag thought. He had been stationed there several years -before. Now it was reputed to be the launch site of one of the three -drones slated to cross the gulfs of space. The chauffeur drove past a -housing area and turned in the direction he knew the strip to be. - - * * * * * - -Somewhere in the darkness ahead a drone brooded on its pad, one of the -children of the silver missile they'd left behind. But why the drone? -The question bothered him. They were stopped several times in the next -half mile. Each time Gotch gave his name and rank and extended his -credentials. Each time they were waved on by silent sharp-eyed sentries, -but only after an exacting scrutiny. Crag was groping for answers when -the chauffeur pulled to one side of the road and stopped. He leaped out -and opened the rear door, standing silently to one side. When they -emerged, he got back into the car and drove away. No word had been -spoken. Figures moved toward them, coming out of the blackness. - -"Stand where you are and be recognized." The figures took -shape--soldiers with leveled rifles. They stood very still until one -wearing a captain's bars approached, flashing a light in their faces. - -"Identity?" - -Crag's companion extended his credentials. - -"Colonel Michael Gotch," he monotoned. The Captain turned the light on -Gotch's face to compare it with the picture on the identification card. -He paid scant attention to Crag. Finally he looked up. - -"Proceed, Sir." It was evident the Colonel's guest was very much -expected. - -Gotch struck off through the darkness with Crag at his heels. The stars -shone with icy brilliance. Overhead Antares stared down from its lair in -Scorpio, blinking with fearful venom. The smell of sage filled the air, -and some sweet elusive odor Crag couldn't identify. A warmth stole -upward as the furnace of the desert gave up its stored heat. He strained -his eyes into the darkness; stars, the black desert ... and the hulking -form of Gotch, moving with certain steps. - -He saw the rocket with startling suddenness--a great black silhouette -blotting out a segment of the stars. It stood gigantic, towering, -graceful, a taper-nosed monster crouched to spring, its finned haunches -squatted against the launch pad. - -They were stopped, challenged, allowed to proceed. Crag pondered the -reason for their visit to the drone. Gotch, he knew, had a good reason -for every move he made. They drew nearer and he saw that most of the -catwalks, guardrails and metal supports had been removed--a certain sign -that the giant before them was near its zero hour. - -Another sentry gave challenge at the base of the behemoth. Crag whistled -to himself. This one wore the silver leaf of a lieutenant colonel! The -ritual of identification was exacting before the sentry moved aside. A -ladder zigzagged upward through what skeletal framework still remained. -Crag lifted his eyes. It terminated high up, near the nose. - -This was the Aztec! The real Aztec! The truth came in a rush. The huge -silver ship at Burning Sands, which bore the name Aztec, was merely a -fake, a subterfuge, a pawn in the complex game of agents and -counter-agents. He knew he was right. - -"After you," Gotch said. He indicated the ladder and stepped aside. - -Crag started up. He paused at the third platform. The floor of the -desert was a sea of darkness. Off in the distance the lights of Alpine -Base gleamed, stark against the night. Gotch reached his level and laid -a restraining hand on his arm. - -Crag turned and waited. The Colonel's massive form was a black shadow -interposed between him and the lights of Alpine Base. - -"This is the Aztec," he said simply. - -"So I guessed. And the silver job at Burning Sands?" - -"Drone Able," Gotch explained. "The deception was necessary--a part of -the cat and mouse game we've been playing the last couple of decades. We -couldn't take a single chance." Crag remained silent. The Colonel turned -toward the lights of the Base. He had become quiet, reflective. When he -spoke, his voice was soft, almost like a man talking to himself. - -"Out there are hundreds of men who have given a large part of their -lives to the dream of space flight. Now we are at the eve of making that -dream live. If we gain the moon, we gain the planets. That's the destiny -of Man. The Aztec is the first step." He turned back and faced Crag. - -"This is but one base. There are many others. Beyond them are the -factories, laboratories, colleges, scientists and engineers, right down -to Joe the Riveter. Every one of them has had a part in the dream. -You're another part, Adam, but you happen to have the lead role." He -swiveled around and looked silently at the distant lights. The moment -was solemn. A slight shiver ran through Crag's body. - -"You know and I know that the Aztec is a development from the ICBM's -guarding Fortress America. You also know, or have heard, that out in San -Diego the first atom-powered spaceship is nearing completion." He looked -sharply at Crag. - -"I've heard," Crag said noncommittally. - -Gotch eyed him steadily. "That's the point. So have others. Our space -program is no secret. But we've suspected--feared--that the first stab -at deep space would be made before the atom job was completed. Not -satellites but deep space rockets. That's why the Aztec was pushed -through so fast." He fell silent. Crag waited. - -"Well, the worst has happened. The enemy is ready to launch--may have -launched this very night. That's how close it is. Fortunately our gamble -with the Aztec is paying off. We're ready, too, Adam. - -"We're going to get that moon. Get it now!" He reached into a pocket and -extracted his pipe, then thought better of lighting it. Crag waited. The -Colonel was in a rare introspective mood, a quiet moment in which he -mentally tied together and weighed his Nation's prospects in the -frightening days ahead. Finally he spoke: - -"We put a rocket around the moon, Adam." He smiled faintly, noting -Crag's involuntary start of surprise. "Naturally it was fully -instrumented. There's uranium there--one big load located in the most -inaccessible spot imaginable." - -"Arzachel," Crag said simply. - -"The south side of Arzachel, to be exact. That's why we didn't pick a -soft touch like Mare Imbrium, in case you've wondered." - -"I've wondered." - -"Adam," the Colonel hesitated a long moment, "does the name Pickering -mean anything to you?" - -"Ken Pickering who--" - -"What have you heard?" snapped Gotch. His eyes became sharp drills. - -Crag spoke slowly: "Nothing ... for a long time. He just seemed to drop -out of sight after he broke the altitude record in the X-34." He looked -up questioningly. - -"Frankly, I've always wondered why he hadn't been selected for this job. -I thought he was a better pilot than I am," he added almost humbly. - -Gotch said bluntly: "You're right. He is better." He smiled tolerantly. -"We picked our men for particular jobs," he said finally. "Pickering ... -we hope ... will be in orbit before the Aztec blasts off." - -"Satelloid?" - -"The first true satelloid," the Colonel agreed. "One that can ride the -fringes of space around the earth. A satelloid with fantastic altitude -and speed. I'm telling you this because he'll be a link in Step One, a -communication and observation link. He won't be up long, of course, but -long enough--we hope." - -Silence fell between them. Crag looked past the Colonel's shoulder. All -at once the lights of Alpine Base seemed warm and near, almost personal. -Gotch lifted his eyes skyward, symbolic of his dreams. The light of -distant stars reflected off his brow. - -"We don't know whether the Aztec can make it," he said humbly. "We -don't know whether our space-lift system will work, whether the drones -can be monitored down to such a precise point on the moon, or the -dangers of meteorite bombardment. We don't know whether our safeguards -for human life are adequate. We don't know whether the opposition can -stop us.... - -"We don't know lots of things, Adam. All we know is that we need the -moon. It's a matter of survival of Western Man, his culture, his way of -life, his political integrity. We need the moon to conquer the -planets ... and some day the stars." - -His voice became a harsh clang. - -"So does the enemy. That's why we have to establish a proprietory -ownership, a claim that the U.N. will recognize. The little nations -represent the balance of power, Adam. But they sway with the political -winds. They are the reeds of power politics ... swaying between the -Sputniks and Explorers, riding with the ebb and flow of power ... always -trying to anticipate the ultimate winner. Right now they're watching to -see where that power lies. The nation that wins the moon will tilt the -balance in its favor. At a critical time, I might add. That's why we -have to protect ourselves every inch of the way." - -He tapped his cold pipe moodily against his hand. "We won't be here to -see the end results, of course. That won't be in our time. But we're the -starters. The Aztec is the pioneer ship. And in the future our economy -can use that load of uranium up there." - -He smiled faintly at Crag. "When you step through the hatch you've left -earth, perhaps for all time. That's your part in the plan. Step One is -your baby and I have confidence in you." He gripped Crag's arm warmly. -It was the closest he had ever come to showing his feelings toward the -man he was sending into space. - -"Come on, let's go." - -Crag started upward. Gotch followed more slowly, climbing like a man -bearing a heavy weight. - - * * * * * - -The Aztec's crew, Max Prochaska, Gordon Nagel and Martin Larkwell, came -aboard the rocket in the last hour before take-off. Gotch escorted them -up the ladder and introduced them to their new Commander. - -Prochaska acknowledged the introduction with a cheerful smile. - -"Glad to know you, Skipper." His thin warm face said he was glad to be -there. - -Gordon Nagel gave a perfunctory handshake, taking in the space cabin -with quick ferret-like head movements. - -Martin Larkwell smiled genially, pumping Crag's hand. "I've been looking -forward to this." - -Crag said dryly. "We all have." He acknowledged the introductions with -the distinct feeling that he already knew each member of his crew. It -was the odd feeling of meeting old acquaintances after long years of -separation. As part of his indoctrination he had studied the personnel -records of the men he might be so dependent on. Now, seeing them in the -flesh, was merely an act of giving life to those selfsame records. He -studied them with casual eyes while Gotch rambled toward an awkward -farewell. - -Max Prochaska, his electronics chief, was a slender man with sparse -brown hair, a thin acquiline nose and pointed jaw. His pale blue eyes, -thin lips and alabaster skin gave him a delicate look--one belied by his -record. His chief asset--if one was to believe the record--was that he -was a genius in electronics. - -Gordon Nagel, too, was, thin-faced and pallid skinned. His black hair, -normally long and wavy, had been close-cropped. His eyes were small, -shifting, agate-black, giving Crag the feeling that he was uneasy--an -impression he was to hold. His record had described him as nervous in -manner but his psychograph was smooth. He was an expert in oxygen -systems. - -Martin Larkwell, the mechanical maintenance and construction boss, in -many ways appeared the antithesis of his two companions. He was -moon-faced, dark, with short brown hair and a deceptively sleepy look. -His round body was well-muscled, his hands big and square. Crag thought -of a sleek drowsy cat, until he saw his eyes. They were sparkling brown -pools, glittering, moving with some strange inner fire. They were the -eyes of a dreamer ... or a fanatic, he thought. In the cabin's soft -light they glowed, flickered. No, there was nothing sleepy about him, he -decided. - -All of the men were short, light, in their early thirties. In contrast -Crag, at 5' 10" and 165 pounds, seemed a veritable giant. A small -physique, he knew, was almost an essential in space, where every ounce -was bought at tremendous added weight in fuel. His own weight had been a -serious strike against him. - -Colonel Gotch made one final trip to the space cabin. This time he -brought the _Moon Code Manual_ (stamped TOP SECRET), the crew personnel -records (Crag wondered why) and a newly printed pamphlet titled "Moon -Survival." Crag grinned when he saw it. - -"Does it tell us how to get there, too?" - -"We'll write that chapter later," Gotch grunted. He shook each man's -hand and gruffly wished them luck before turning abruptly toward the -hatch. He started down the ladder. A moment later his head reappeared. - -He looked sharply at Crag and said, "By the way, that twosome at the -Blue Door got it last night." - -"You mean...?" - -"Burp gun. No finesse. Just sheer desperation. Well, I just wanted to -let you know we weren't altogether crazy." - -"I didn't think you were." - -The Colonel's lips wrinkled in a curious smile. "No?" He looked at Crag -for a long moment. "Good luck." His head disappeared from view and Crag -heard his footsteps descending the ladder. - -Then they were alone, four men alone. Crag turned toward his companions. - - - - -CHAPTER 3 - - -The great red sun was just breaking over the desert horizon when Crag -got his last good look at earth. Its rays slanted upward, shadows fled -from the sage; the obsidian sky with its strewn diamonds became slate -gray and, in moments, a pale washed blue. Daybreak over the desert -became a thunder of light. Tiny ants had removed the last of the metal -framework encompassing the rocket. Other ants were visible making last -minute cheeks. - -He returned his attention to the space cabin. Despite long months of -training in the cabin simulator--an exact replica of the Aztec -quarters--he was appalled at the lack of outside vision. One narrow -rectangular quartz window above the control panel, a circular port on -each side bulkhead and one on the floor--he had to look between his -knees to see through it when seated at the controls--provided the sole -visual access to the outside world. A single large radarscope, a radar -altimeter and other electronic equipment provided analogs of the outside -world; the reconstruction of the exterior environment painted on the -scopes by electromagnetic impulses. - -The cabin was little more than a long flat-floored cylinder with most -of the instrumentation in the nose section. With the rocket in launch -position, what normally was the rear wall formed the floor. The seats -had been swiveled out to operational position. - -Now they were seated, strapped down, waiting. It was, Crag thought, like -sitting in a large automobile which had been balanced on its rear -bumper. During launch and climb their backs would be horizontal to the -earth's surface. - -He was thankful they were not required to wear their heavy pressure -suits until well into the moon's gravisphere. Normally pressure suits -and helmets were the order of the day. He was used to stratospheric -flight where heavy pressure suits and helmets were standard equipment; -gear to protect the fragile human form until the lower oxygen-rich -regions of the air ocean could be reached in event of trouble. But the -Aztec was an all-or-nothing affair. There were no escape provisions, no -ejection seats, for ejection would be impossible at the rocket's speeds -during its critical climb through the atmosphere. Either everything went -according to the book or ... or else, he concluded grimly. But it had -one good aspect. Aside from the heavy safety harnessing, he would be -free of the intolerably clumsy suit until moonfall. If anything went -wrong, well ... - -He bit the thought off, feeling the tension building inside him. He had -never considered himself the hero type. He had prided himself that his -ability to handle hot planes was a reflection of his competence rather -than courage. Courage, to him, meant capable performance in the face of -fear. He had never known fear in any type of aircraft, hence never -before had courage been a requisite of his job. It was that simple to -him. His thorough knowledge of the Aztec's theoretical flight -characteristics had given him extreme confidence, thus the feeling of -tension was distracting. He held his hand out. It seemed steady enough. - -Prochaska caught the gesture and said, "I'm a little shaky myself." - -Crag grinned. "They tell me the first thousand miles are the hardest." - -"Amen. After that I won't worry." - -The countdown had begun. Crag looked out the side port. Tiny figures -were withdrawing from the base of the rocket. The engine of a fuel truck -sounded faintly, then died away. Everything seemed unhurried, routine. -He found himself admiring the men who went so matter-of-factly about the -job of hurling a rocket into the gulfs between planets. Once, during his -indoctrination, he had watched a Thor firing ... had seen the missile -climb into the sky, building up to orbital speed. Its launchers had been -the same sort of men--unhurried, methodical, checking the minutiae that -went into such an effort. Only this time there was a difference. The -missile contained men. - -Off to one side he saw the launch crew moving into an instrumented -dugout. Colonel Gotch would be there, puffing on his pipe, his face -expressionless, watching the work of many years come to ... what? - -He looked around the cabin for the hundredth time. Larkwell and Nagel -were strapped in their seats, backs horizontal to the floor, looking up -at him. The tremendous forces of acceleration applied at right angles to -the spine--transverse g--was far more tolerable than in any other -position. Or so the space medicine men said. He hoped they were right, -that in this position the body could withstand the hell ahead. He gave a -last look at the two men behind him. Larkwell wore an owlish expression. -His teeth were clamped tight, cording his jaws. Nagel's face was intent, -its lines rigid. It gave Crag the odd impression of an alabaster -sculpture. Prochaska, who occupied the seat next to him facing the -control panels, was testing his safety belts. - -Crag gave him a quick sidelong glance. Prochaska's job was in many -respects as difficult as his own. Perhaps more so. The sallow-faced -electronics chief bore the responsibility of monitoring the -drones--shepherding, first Drone Able, then its sisters to -follow--across the vacuum gulfs and, finally, into Arzachel, a pinpoint -cavity in the rocky wastelands of the moon. In addition, he was charged -with monitoring, repairing and installing all the communication and -electronic equipment, no small job in itself. Yes, a lot depended on the -almost fragile man sitting alongside him. He looked at his own -harnessing, testing its fit. - -Colonel Gotch came on the communicator. "Pickering's in orbit," he said -briefly. "No details yet." - -Crag sighed in relief. Somehow Pickering's success augured well for -their own attempt. He gave a last check of the communication gear. The -main speaker was set just above the instrument panel, between him and -Prochaska. In addition, both he and the Chief--the title he had -conferred on Prochaska as his special assistant--were supplied with -insert earphones and lip microphones for use during high noise -spectrums, or when privacy was desired. Crag, as Commander, could limit -all communications to his own personal headgear by merely flipping a -switch. Gotch had been the architect of that one. He was a man who liked -private lines. - -"Five minutes to zero, Commander." - -Commander! Crag liked that. He struggled against his harnessing to -glance back over his shoulder. Nagel's body, scrunched deep into his -bucket seat, seemed pitifully thin under the heavy harnessing. His face -was bloodless, taut. Crag momentarily wondered what strange course of -events had brought him to the rocket. He didn't look like Crag's picture -of a spaceman. Not at all. But then, none of them looked like supermen. -Still, courage wasn't a matter of looks, he told himself. It was a -matter of action. - -He swiveled his head around farther. Larkwell reclined next to Nagel -with eyes closed. Only the fast rise and fall of his chest told of his -inner tensions--that and the hawk-like grip of his fingers around the -arm rests. Worried, Crag thought. But we're all worried. He cast a -sidelong glance at Prochaska. The man's face held enormous calm. He -reached over and picked up the console mike, then sat for what seemed an -eternity before the countdown reached minus one minute. He plugged in -his ear-insert microphone. - -"Thirty seconds...." The voice over the speaker boomed. Prochaska -suddenly became busy checking his instruments. Jittery despite his -seeming calm, Crag thought. - -"Twenty seconds...." He caught himself checking his controls, as if he -could gain some last moment's knowledge from the banks of levers and -dials and knobs. - -"Ten ... nine ... eight...." He experimentally pulled at his harnessing, -feeling somewhat hypnotized by the magic of the numbers coming over the -communicator. - -"Three ... two...." - -Crag said, "Ready on one." - -He punched a button. A muted roar drifted up from the stem. He listened -for a moment. Satisfied, he moved the cut-in switch. The roar increased, -becoming almost deafening in the cabin despite its soundproofing. He -tested the radio and steering rockets and gave a last sidelong glance at -Prochaska. The Chief winked. The act made him feel better. I should be -nervous, he thought, or just plain damned scared. But things were -happening too fast. He adjusted his lip mike and reached for the -controls, studying his hand as he did so. Still steady. He stirred the -controls a bit and the roar became hellish. He chewed his lip and took a -deep breath, exhaling slowly. - -He said, "Off to the moon." - -Prochaska nodded. Crag moved the controls. The cabin seemed to bob, -wobble, vibrate. A high hum came from somewhere. He glanced downward -through the side port. The Aztec seemed to be hanging in mid-air just -above the desert floor. Off to one side he could see the concrete -controls dugout. The tiny figures had vanished. - -He thought: _Gotch is sweating it out now_. In the past rockets had -burned on the pad ... blown up in mid-air ... plunged off course and had -to be destroyed. The idea brought his head up with a snap. Was there a -safety officer down there with a finger on a button ... prepared to -destroy the Aztec if it wavered in flight? - -He cut the thought off and moved the main power switch, bringing the -control full over. The ship bucked, and the desert dropped away with a -suddenness that brought a siege of nausea. He tightened his stomach -muscles like the space medicine doctors had instructed. - -The first moment was bad. There was unbelievable thunder, a fraction of -a second when his brain seemed to blank, a quick surge of fear. Up ... -up. The Aztec's rate of acceleration climbed sharply. At a prescribed -point in time the nose of the rocket moved slightly toward the east. It -climbed at an impossibly steep slant, rushing up from the earth. Crag -swept his eyes over the banks of instruments, noted the positions of the -controls, tried to follow what the faint voice in his earphone was -telling him. Dials with wavering needles ... knobs with blurry -numerals ... a cacophony of noise, light and movement--all this and -more was crowded into seconds. - -The rocket hurtled upward, driven by the tidal kinetic energy generated -by the combustion of high velocity exhaust, born in an inferno of -thousands of degrees. Behind him giant thrust chambers hungrily consumed -the volatile fuel, spewing the high-pressure gases forth at more than -nine thousand miles per hour. The crushing increased, driving him -against the back of his seat. His heart began laboring ... became a -sledge hammer inside his chest wall. - -He lost all sense of motion. Only the almost unendurable weight crushing -his body downward mattered. He managed a glimpse of the desert through -the side port. It lay far below, its salient details erased. The roar of -the giant motors became muted. There was a singing in his ears, a high -whine he didn't like. - -The Aztec began to tilt, falling off to the right. - -He cast a quick glance at the engine instruments. A red light blinked. -Number three was delivering slightly less thrust than the others. -Somewhere in the complex of machinery a mechanical sensing device -reacted. Engines one and two were throttled back and the rocket -straightened. A second device shifted the mix on engine three, bringing -thrust into balance. All three engines resumed full power. - -"Twenty-five thousand feet," Prochaska chattered. His voice was tinny -over the small insert earphone provided for communications, especially -for those first few hellish moments when the whole universe seemed -collapsed into one huge noise spectrum. Noise and pressure. - -"Forty-five thousand...." - -They were moving up fast now--three g, four g, five g. Crag's body -weight was equal to 680 pounds. The dense reaches of the -troposphere--the weather belt where storms are born--dropped below them. -They hurtled through the rarefied, bitterly cold and utterly calm -stratosphere. - -"Eighty thousand feet...." - -Crag struggled to move his body. His hand was leaden on the controls, as -if all life had been choked from it. A hot metal ball filled his chest. -He couldn't breathe. Panic ... until he remembered to breathe at the top -of his lungs. - -At eighteen miles a gale of wind drove west. Rudders on the Aztec -compensated, she leaned slightly into the blast, negating its drift. The -winds ceased ... rudders shifted ... the rocket slanted skyward. -Faster ... faster. - -Prochaska called off altitudes almost continuously, the chattering gone -from his voice. Crag was still struggling against the pinning weight -when it decreased, vanished. The firestream from the tail pipe gave a -burst of smoke and died. _Brennschluss_--burnout. - -The Aztec hurtled toward the cosmic-ray laden ionosphere, driven only by -the inertial forces generated in the now silent thrust chambers. The -hard components of cosmic rays--fast mesons, high energy protons and -neutrons--would rip through the ship. _If dogs and monkeys can take it, -so can man._ That's what Gotch had said. He hoped Gotch was right. -Somewhere, now, the first stage would fall away. It would follow them, -at ever greater distances, until finally its trajectory would send it -plunging homeward. - -"Cut in." Prochaska's voice was a loud boom in the silence. A strident -voice from the communicator was trying to tell them they were right on -the button. Crag moved a second switch. The resultant acceleration drove -him against the back of his seat, violently expelling the air from his -lungs. He fought against the increasing gravities, conscious of pressure -and noise in his ears; pressure and noise mixed with fragments of voice. -His lips pulled tight against his teeth. The thudding was his heart. He -tightened his stomach muscles, trying to ease the weight on his chest. A -mighty hand was gripped around his lungs, squeezing out the air. But it -wasn't as bad as the first time. They were piercing the thermosphere -where the outside temperature gradient would zoom upward toward the -2,000 degree mark. - -Prochaska spoke matter-of-factly into his lip mike, "Fifty miles." - -Crag marveled at his control ... his calm. No, he didn't have to worry -about the Chief. The little runt had it. Crag tried to grin. The effort -was a pain. - -The Aztec gave a lurch, altering the direction of forces on their bodies -again as a servo control kicked the ship into the long shallow spiral of -escape. It moved upward and more easterly, its nose slanted toward the -stars, seeking its new course. Crag became momentarily dizzy. His vision -blurred ... the instrument panel became a kaleidoscope of dancing, -merging patterns. Then it was past, all except the three g force nailing -him to the seat. - -He spoke into the communicator. "How we doing?" - -"Fine, Commander, just fine," Gotch rasped. "The toughest part's over." - -Over like hell, Crag thought. A one-way rocket to the moon and he tells -me the toughest part's over. Lord, I should work in a drugstore! - -"Seventy-five miles and two hundred miles east," the Chief intoned. Crag -made a visual instrument check. Everything looked okay. No red lights. -Just greens. Wonderful greens that meant everything was hunky-dory. He -liked green. He wanted to see how Larkwell and Nagel were making out but -couldn't turn his head. It's rougher on them, he thought. They can't see -the instruments, can't hear the small voice from Alpine. They just have -to sit and take it. Sit and feel the unearthly pressures and weights and -hope everything's okay. - -"Ninety-six miles ... speed 3.1 miles per second," Prochaska chanted a -short while later. - -It's as easy as that, Crag thought. Years and years of planning and -training; then you just step in and go. Not that they were there yet. He -remembered the rockets that had burned ... exploded ... the drifting -hulks that still orbited around the earth. No, it wasn't over yet. Not -by a long shot. - -The quiet came again. The earth, seen through the side port, seemed -tremendously far away. It was a study in greens and yellow-browns and -whitish ragged areas where the eye was blocked by cloud formations. -Straight out the sky was black, starry. Prochaska reached up and swung -the glare shield over the forward port. The sun, looked at even -indirectly, was a blinding orb, intolerable to the unprotected eye. -Night above ... day below. A sun that blazed without breaking the ebon -skies. Strange, Crag mused. He had been prepared for this, prepared by -long hours of instruction. But now, confronted with a day that was -night, he could only wonder. For a moment he felt small, insignificant, -and wondered at brazen man. Who dared come here? I dared, he thought. A -feeling of pride grew within him. I dared. The stars are mine. - - * * * * * - -Stage three was easy by comparison. It began with the muted roar of -thrust chambers almost behind them, a noise spectrum almost solely -confined to the interior of the rocket. Outside there was no longer -sufficient air molecules to convey even a whisper of sound. Nor was -there a pressure build-up. The stage three engine was designed for -extremely low thrust extended over a correspondingly longer time. It -would drive them through the escape spiral--an orbital path around the -earth during which time they would slowly increase both altitude and -speed. - -Crag's body felt light; not total weightlessness, but extremely light. -His instruments told him they were breaching the exosphere, where -molecular matter had almost ceased to exist. The atoms of the exosphere -were lonely, uncrowded, isolated particles. It was the top of the air -ocean where, heretofore, only monkeys, dogs and smaller test animals had -gone. It was the realm of Sputniks ... Explorers ... Vanguards--all the -test rockets which had made the Aztec possible. They still sped their -silent orbits, borne on the space tides of velocity; eternal tombs of -dogs and monkeys. And after monkey--man. - -The communicator gave a burp. A voice came through the static. Drone -Able was aloft. It had blasted off from its blasting pad at Burning -Sands just moments after the Aztec. Prochaska bent over the radarscope -and fiddled with some knobs. The tube glowed and dimmed, then it was -there--a tiny pip. - -Alpine came in with more data. They watched its course. Somewhere far -below them and hundreds of miles to the west human minds were guiding -the drone by telemeter control, vectoring it through space to meet the -Aztec. It was, Crag thought, applied mathematics. He marveled at the -science which enabled them to do it. One moment the drone was just a pip -on the scope, climbing up from the sere earth, riding a firestream to -the skies; the next it was tons of metal scorching through space, -cutting into their flight path--a giant screaming up from its cradle. - -It was Prochaska's turn to sweat. The job of taking it over was his. He -bent over his instruments, ears tuned to the communicator fingers -nervous on the drone controls. The drone hurtled toward them at a -frightening speed. - -Crag kept his fingers on the steering controls just in case, his mind -following the Chief's hands. They began moving more certainly. Prochaska -tossed his head impatiently, bending lower over the instrument console. -Crag strained against his harnessing to see out of the side port. The -drone was visible now, a silver shaft growing larger with appalling -rapidity. A thin skein of vapor trailed from its trail, fluffing into -nothingness. - -_If angle of closure remains constant, you're on collision course._ The -words from the Flying Safety Manual popped into his mind. He studied the -drone. - -Angle of closure was constant! - -Crag hesitated. Even a touch on the steering rockets could be bad. Very -bad. The slightest change in course at their present speed would impose -tremendous g forces on their bodies, perhaps greater than they could -stand. He looked at the Chief and licked his lips. The man was intent on -his instruments, seemingly lost to the world. His fingers had ceased all -random movement. Every motion had precise meaning. He was hooked onto -Drone Able's steering rockets now, manipulating the controls with -extreme precision. He was a concert pianist playing the strident music -of space, an overture written in metal and flaming gas. Tiny corrections -occurred in the Drone's flight path. - -"Got her lined up," Prochaska announced without moving his eyes from the -scope. He gradually narrowed the distance between the rockets until they -were hurtling through space on parallel courses scant miles apart. He -gave a final check and looked at Crag. They simultaneously emitted big -sighs. - -"Had me worried for a moment," Crag confessed. - -"Me, too." The Chief looked out of the side port "Man, it looks like a -battle wagon." - -Crag squinted through the port. Drone Able was a silver bullet in space, -a twin of the Aztec except in color. A drone with view ports. He smiled -thoughtfully. Every exterior of the drone had been planned to make it -appear like a manned vehicle. Gotch was the architect of that bit of -deception, he thought. The Colonel hadn't missed a bet. - -He looked at the earth. It was a behemoth in space; a huge curved -surface falling away in all directions; a mosaic of grays punctuated by -swaths of blue-green tints and splotches of white where fleecy clouds -rode the top of the troposphere. His momentary elation vanished, -replaced by an odd depression. The world was far away, retreating into -the cosmic mists. The aftermath, he thought. A chill presentiment crept -into his mind--a premonition of impending disaster. - - - - -CHAPTER 4 - - -The communicator came to life with data on Pickering. The satelloid was -moving higher, faster than the Aztec, riding the rim of the exosphere -where the atmosphere is indistinguishable from absolute space. Crag felt -thankful he hadn't been tabbed for the job. The satelloid was a fragile -thing compared to the Aztec--a moth compared to a hawk. It was a -relative handful of light metals and delicate electronic components, yet -it moved at frightful speeds over the course the armchair astronauts had -dubbed "Sputnik Avenue." It was a piloted vehicle, a mite with small -stubby wings to enable it to glide through the air ocean to safe -sanctuary after orbiting the earth. Pickering would be crouched in its -scant belly, a space hardly larger than his body, cramped in a pressure -suit that made movement all but impossible. His smallest misjudgment -would spell instant death. Crag marveled at Pickering's audacity. -Clearly he had the roughest mission. While he thought about it, he kept -one part of his mind centered on the communicator absorbing the data on -the satelloid's position and speed. - -The Northern tip of Africa came up fast. The Dark Continent of history -seen from the borders of space was a yellow-green splotch hemmed by -blue. The satelloid was still beyond the Aztec's radar range but a data -link analog painted in the relationship between the two space vehicles. -The instrument's automatic grid measured the distance between them in -hundreds of miles. Pickering, aloft before them, had fled into the east -and already was beginning to overtake them from the west. The ships were -seen on the analog as two pips, two mites aloft in the air ocean. Crag -marveled at the satelloid's tremendous speed. It was a ray of metal -flashing along the fringes of space, a rapier coming out of the west. - -The Middle East passed under them, receding, a mass of yellow-green and -occasional smoke-blue splotches. The earth was a giant curvature, not -yet an orb, passing into the shadow of night. It was a night of -fantastic shortness, broken by daylight over the Pacific. The ocean was -an incredible blue, blue-black he decided. The harsh sound of the -communicator came to life. Someone wanted a confab with Crag. A private -confab. Prochaska wrinkled his brow questioningly. Crag switched to his -ear insert phone and acknowledged. - -"A moment," a voice said. He waited. - -"Commander, we've bad news for you." It was Gotch's voice, a rasp coming -over a great distance. - -"The S-two reports a rocket being tracked by radar. ComSoPac's picked it -up. It's on intercept course." - -Crag's thoughts raced. The S-two was the satelloid's code name. "Any -idea what kind?" - -"Probably a sub-launched missile--riding a beam right to you. Or the -drone," he added. He was silent for a second. "Well, we sort of expected -this might happen, Commander. It's a tough complication." - -A helluva lot of good that does, Crag thought. What next? Another set of -pilots, more indoctrination, new rockets, another zero hour. Gotch would -win the moon if he had to use the whole Air Force. He said, "Well, it's -been a nice trip, so far." - -"Get Prochaska on the scope." - -"He's on and ... hold it." The Chief was making motions toward the -scope. "No, it's the satelloid. He's--" - -Gotch broke in with more data. Then it was there. - -"He's got it," Crag announced. Gotch was silent. He watched the analog. -All three pips were visible. The satelloid was still above them, rushing -in, fast. The interceptor was lower to the northwest, cutting into their -path. He thought it was the Drone Able story all over again. Only this -time it wasn't a supply rocket. It was a warhead, a situation they -couldn't control. - -_Couldn't control? Or could they?_ He debated the question, then quickly -briefed Prochaska and cut him in on the com circuit. - -"We can use Drone Able as an intercept," he told Gotch. - -"No!" The word came explosively. - -Crag snapped, "Drone Able won't be a damn bit of good without the -Aztec." - -"No, this is ground control, Commander." Gotch abruptly cut off. Crag -cursed. - -"Calling Step One.... Calling Step One. S-two calling Step One. Are you -receiving? Over." The voice came faint over the communicator, rising and -falling. - -"Step One," Crag said, adjusting his lip mike. He acknowledged the code -call while his mind registered the fact it wasn't Alpine Base. There was -a burst of static. He waited a moment, puzzled. - -"S-two calling...." - -Pickering! He had been slow in recognizing the satelloid's code call. -The voice faded--was lost. His thought raced. Pickering was up there in -the satelloid moving higher, faster than the Aztec, hurtling along the -rim of space in a great circle around the earth. The stubby-winged -rocket ship was a minute particle in infinity, yet it represented a part -in the great adventure. It was the hand of Michael Gotch reaching toward -them. For the instant, the knowledge gave him a ray of hope--hope as -quickly dashed. The S-two was just a high-speed observation and relay -platform; a manned vehicle traveling the communication orbit established -by the Army's earlier Explorer missiles. He turned back to Prochaska and -sketched in his plan of using Drone Able as an intercept. - -"Could be." The Chief bit his lip reflectively. "We could control her -through her steering rockets, but we'd have to be plenty sharp. We'd -only get one crack." - -"Chances are the intercept is working on a proximity fuse," Crag -reasoned. "All we'd have to do is work the drone into its flight path. -We could use our own steering rockets to give us a bigger margin of -safety." - -"What would the loss of Able mean?" - -Crag shrugged. "I'm more concerned with what the loss of the Aztec would -mean." - -"Might work." The Chief looked sharply at him. "What does Alpine say?" - -"They say nuts." Crag looked at the scope. The intercept was much -nearer. So was the S-two. Pickering's probably coming in for an -eye-witness report, he thought sourly. Probably got an automatic camera -so Gotch can watch the show. He looked quizzically at Prochaska. The -Chief wore a frozen mask. He got back on the communicator and repeated -his request. When he finished, there was a dead silence in the void. - -The Colonel's answer was unprintable. He looked thoughtfully at -Prochaska. Last time he'd broken ground orders he'd been invited to -leave the Air Force. But Gotch had taken him despite that. He glanced -over his shoulder trying to formulate a plan. Larkwell was lying back in -his seat, eyes closed. Lucky dog, he thought. He doesn't know what he's -in for. He twisted his head further. Nagel watched him with a narrow -look. He pushed the oxygen man from his mind and turned back to the -analog. The pip that was Pickering had moved a long way across the grid. -The altitude needle tied into the grid showed that the satelloid was -dropping fast. The intercept was nearer, too. Much nearer. Prochaska -watched the scene on his radarscope. - -"She's coming fast," he murmured. His face had paled. - -"Too fast," Crag gritted. He got on the communicator and called Alpine. -Gotch came on immediately. - -Crag said defiantly. "We're going to use Drone Able as an intercept. -It's the only chance." - -"Commander, I ordered ground control." The Colonel's voice was icy, -biting. - -"Ground has no control over this situation," Crag snapped angrily. - -"I said ground control, Commander. That's final." - -"I'm using Drone Able." - -"Commander Crag, you'll wind up cleaning the heads at Alpine," Gotch -raged. "Don't move that Drone." - -For a moment the situation struck him as humorous. Just now he'd like to -be guaranteed the chance to clear the heads at Alpine Base. It sounded -good--real good. There was another burst of static. Pickering's voice -came in--louder, clearer, a snap through the ether. - -"Don't sacrifice the drone, Commander!" - -"Do you know a better way?" - -Pickering's voice dropped to a laconic drawl. - -"Reckon so." - -Crag glanced at the analog and gave a visible start. The satelloid was -lower, moving in faster along a course which would take it obliquely -through the space path being traversed by the Aztec. If there was such a -thing as a wake in space, that's where the satelloid would chop through, -cutting down toward the intercept. He's using his power, he thought, the -scant amount of fuel he would need for landing. But if he used it up.... - -He slashed the thought off and swung to the communicator. - -"Step One to S-two ... Step One to S-two ..." - -"S-two." Pickering came in immediately. - -Crag barked, "You can't--" - -"That's my job," Pickering cut in. "You gotta get that bucket to the -moon." Crag looked thoughtfully at the communicator. - -"Okay," he said finally. "Thanks, fellow." - -"Don't mention it. The Air Force is always ready to serve," Pickering -said. "Adios." He cut off. - -Crag stared at the analog, biting his lip, feeling the emotion surge -inside him. It grew to a tumult. - -"Skipper!" Prochaska's voice was startled. "For God's sake ... look!" - -Crag swung his eyes to the scope. The blip representing Pickering had -cut their flight path, slicing obliquely through their wake. At its -tremendous speed only the almost total absence of air molecules kept the -satelloid from turning into a blazing torch. Down ... down ... plunging -to meet the death roaring up from the Pacific. They followed it -silently. A brief flare showed on the scope. They looked at the screen -for a long moment. - -"He was a brave man," Prochaska said simply. - -"A pile of guts." Crag got on the communicator. Gotch listened. When he -had finished, Gotch said: - -"After this, Commander, follow ground orders. You damned near fouled up -the works. I don't want to see that happen again." - -"Yes, Sir, but I couldn't have expected that move." - -"What do you think Pickering was up there for?" Gotch asked softly. "He -knew what he was doing. That was his job. Just like the couple that got -bumped at the Blue Door. It's tough, Commander, but some people have to -die. A lot have, already, and there'll be a lot more." - -He added brusquely, "You'll get your chance." The communicator was -silent for a moment. "Well, carry on." - -"Aye, aye, Sir," Crag said. He glanced over his shoulder. - -Larkwell was leaning over in his seat, twisting his body to see out the -side port. His face was filled with the wonder of space. Nagel didn't -stir. His eyes were big saucers in his white, thin face. Crag half -expected to see his lips quiver, and wondered briefly at the courage it -must have taken for him to volunteer. He didn't seem at all like the -hero type. Still, look at Napoleon. You could never tell what a man had -until the chips were down. Well, the chips _were_ down. Nagel better -have it. He turned reflectively back to the forward port thinking that -the next two days would be humdrum. Nothing would ever seem tough again. -Not after what they had just been through. - -Prochaska fell into the routine of calling out altitude and speed. Crag -listened with one part of his mind occupied with Pickering's sacrifice. -Would he have had the courage to drive the satelloid into the warhead? -Did it take more guts to do that than to double for a man slated to be -murdered? He mulled the questions. Plainly, Step One was jammed with -heroes. - -"Altitude, 1,000 miles, speed, 22,300." Prochaska whispered the words, -awe in his voice. They looked at each other wordlessly. - -"We've made it," Crag exulted. "We're on that old moon trajectory." The -Chiefs face reflected his wonder. Crag studied his instruments. Speed -slightly over 22,300 miles per hour. The radar altimeter showed the -Aztec slightly more than one thousand miles above the earth's surface. -He hesitated, then cut off the third stage engine. The fuel gauge -indicated a bare few gallons left. This small amount, he knew, -represented error in the precise computations of escape. Well, the extra -weight was negligible. At the same time, they couldn't afford added -acceleration. He became aware that the last vestige of weight had -vanished. He moved his hand. No effort. No effort at all. Space, he -thought, the first successful manned space ship. - -Elation swept him. He, Adam Crag, was in space. Not just the top of the -atmosphere but absolute space--the big vacuum that surrounded the world. -This had been the aim ... the dream ... the goal. And so quick! - -He flicked his mind back. It seemed almost no time at all since the -Germans had electrified the world with the V-2, a primitive rocket that -scarcely reached seventy miles above the earth, creeping at a mere 3,000 -miles per hour. - -The Americans had strapped a second stage to the German prototype, -creating the two-stage V-2-Wac Corporal and sending it 250 miles into -the tall blue at speeds better than 5,000 miles per hour. It had been a -battle even then, he thought, remembering the dark day the Russians beat -the West with Sputnik I ... seemingly demolished it with Sputnik -II--until the U. S. Army came through with Explorer I. That had been the -real beginning. IRBM's and ICBM's had been born. Missiles and -counter-missiles. Dogs, monkeys and mice had ridden the fringes of -space. But never man. - -A deep sense of satisfaction flooded him. The Aztec had been the first. -The Aztec under Commander Adam Crag. The full sense of the -accomplishment was just beginning to strike him. We've beaten the enemy, -he thought. We've won. It had been a grim battle waged on a -technological front; a battle between nations in which, ironically, each -victory by either side took mankind a step nearer emancipation from the -world. Man could look forward now, to a bright shiny path leading to the -stars. This was the final step. The Big Step. The step that would tie -together two worlds. In a few short days the Aztec would reach her -lonely destination, Arzachel, a bleak spot in the universe. Adam Crag, -the Man in the Moon. He hoped. He turned toward the others, trying to -wipe the smug look from his face. - -The oddity of weightlessness was totally unlike anything he had expected -despite the fact its symptoms had been carefully explained during the -indoctrination program. He was sitting in the pilot's seat, yet he -wasn't. He felt no sense of pressure against the seat, or against -anything else, for that matter. It was, he thought, like sitting on air, -as light as a mote of dust drifting in a breeze. Sure, he'd experienced -weightlessness before, when pushing a research stratojet through a -high-speed trajectory to counter the pull of gravity, for example. But -those occasions had lasted only brief moments. He moved his hand -experimentally upward--a move that ended like the strike of a snake. -Yeah, it was going to take some doing to learn control of his movements. -He looked at Prochaska. The Chief was feeding data to Alpine Base. He -finished and grinned broadly at Crag. His eyes were elated. - -"Sort of startling, isn't it?" - -"Amen," Crag agreed. "I'm almost afraid to loosen my harnessing. - -"Alpine says we're right on the button--schedule, course and speed. -There's a gal operator on now." - -"That's good. That means we're back to routine." Crag loosened his -harnesses and twisted around in his seat. Larkwell was moving his hands -experimentally. He saw Crag and grinned foolishly. Nagel looked ill. His -face was pinched, bloodless, his eyes red-rimmed. He caught Crag's look -and nodded, without expression. - -"Pretty rough," Crag said sympathetically. His voice, in the new-born -silence, possessed a curious muffled effect. "We're past the worst." - -Nagel's lips twisted derisively. "Yeah?" - -The querulous tone grated Crag and he turned back to the controls. -_Every minor irritant will assume major proportions._ That's what Doc -Weldon had warned. Well, damnit, he wouldn't let Nagel get him down. -Besides, what was his gripe? They were all in the same boat. He turned -to the instrument console, checking the myriad of dials, gauges and -scopes. Everything seemed normal, if there was such a thing as normalcy -in space. He said reflectively, speaking to no one in particular: - -"Maybe I should have been more truthful with the Colonel before taking -on this damned job of moon pilot. There's something I didn't tell him." - -"What?" Prochaska's face was startled. - -"I've never been to the moon before." - - - - -CHAPTER 5 - - -"Alpine wants a private confab," Prochaska said. His voice was ominous. -"Probably another stinker." - -"Again?" Crag plugged in his ear insert microphone thinking he wasn't -going to like what he'd hear. Just when things had started looking -smooth too. He cut Prochaska out of the system and acknowledged. - -"Crag?" Gotch's voice was brittle, hard. He looked sideways at -Prochaska, who was studiously examining one of the instruments, trying -to give him the privacy demanded. He shifted his head. Larkwell was -standing at the side port with his back toward him. Nagel lay back in -his seat, eyes closed. - -Crag answered softly. "Shoot." - -"More bad news," Gotch reported somberly. "Burning Sands picked a -package out of Drone Able just before launch time. It's just been -identified." - -"Check," he replied, trying to assimilate what Gotch was telling him. - -Gotch stated flatly. "It was a time bomb. Here's a description. Bomb was -packaged in a flat black plastic case about one by four inches. Probably -not big enough to wreck the drone but big enough to destroy the -controls. It was found tucked in the wiring of the main panel. Got -that?" - -"Check." - -"The bomb squad hasn't come through with full details yet. If you find a -mate, don't try to disarm it. Dump it, pronto!" - -"Can't. It'll stay with us." - -"It's size indicates it wouldn't be fatal if it exploded outside the -hull," Gotch rasped. "It was designed to wreck controls. If you find -one, dump it. That's an order." The earphones were silent. Crag was -swiveling toward Prochaska when they came to life again. - -"One other thing." Gotch was silent for a moment. Crag pictured him -carefully framing his words. "It means that the situation is worse than -we thought," he said finally. - -"They haven't left anything to chance. If you have a bomb, it was -carried there after the final security check. Do you follow me?" - -"Yeah," Crag answered thoughtfully. He sat for a moment, debating what -to do. Prochaska didn't ask any questions. Gotch was telling him that -the Aztec might be mined. Wait, what else had he said? _The bomb was -carried there after the security check._ That spelled traitor. The Aztec -had been shaken down too often and too thoroughly for Intelligence to -have muffed. It would have to have been planted at the last moment. If -there was a bomb, he'd better keep quiet until Gotch's suspicions were -proven false--or verified. - -He turned toward Prochaska, keeping his voice low. "Search the console -panels--every inch of them." - -He looked around. Nagel and Larkwell were back in their seats. Nagel -seemed asleep, but Larkwell's face was speculative. Crag's eyes swept -the cabin. Spare oxygen tanks, packaged pressure suits, water vents, -chemical commode, the algae chamber and spare chemicals to absorb carbon -dioxide in case the algae system failed--these and more items filled -every wall, cupboard, occupied every cubic inch of space beyond the bare -room needed for human movement. Where was the most sensitive spot? The -controls. He sighed and turned back to the panels. - -Prochaska was methodically running his hands through the complex of -wiring under the instrument panels. His face was a question, the face of -a man who didn't know what he was looking for. He decided not to tell -him ... yet. His earphones gave a burst of static followed by the -Colonel's hurried voice. - -"Burning Sands reports packaged timed for 0815," he snapped. "That's -eight minutes away. Get on the ball. If you've got one there, it's -probably a twin." - -"Okay," Crag acknowledged. "Adios, we've got work to do." He swung -toward Nagel. - -"Break out the pressure suits," he barked. "Lend him a hand, Larkwell." - -Nagel's eyes opened. "Pressure suits?" - -"Check. We may need them in a couple of minutes." - -"But--" - -"Get to it," Crag rasped. "It may be a matter of life or death." He -turned. Prochaska was still examining the wiring. No time to search the -rest of the cabin, he thought. It might be anywhere. It would have to be -the panels or nothing. Besides, that was the most logical place. He went -to the Chief's assistance, searching the panels on his side of the -board, pushing his fingers gently between the maze of wiring. Nothing -below the analog, the engine instruments, the radar altimeter. He -glanced at the chronometer and began to sweat. The hands on the dial -seemed to be racing. Prochaska finished his side of the console and -looked sideways at him. Better tell him, Crag thought. - -He said calmly, "Time bomb. Burning Sands says, if we have one, it may -blow in--" he glanced hurriedly at the chronometer--"five minutes." - -Prochaska looked hurriedly at the array of gear lining the bulkheads. - -"Probably in the controls, if we have one." Crag finished the panels on -his side without any luck. Prochaska hastily started re-examining the -wiring. Crag followed after him. A moment later his fingers found it, a -smooth flat case deeply imbedded between the wiring. Prochaska had gone -over that panel a moment before! The thought struck him even as he moved -it out, handling it gingerly. Prochaska showed his surprise. Crag -glanced at Nagel and Larkwell. They had the suits free. He laid the -bomb on the console. Larkwell saw it. His face showed understanding. He -heaved one of the suits to Prochaska and a second one to Crag. They -hurriedly donned them. Space limitations made it an awkward task. Crag -kept his eyes on the chronometer. The hand seemed to whiz across the -dial. He began to sweat, conscious that he was breathing heavily. - -"Short exposure," he rapped out. "Minimum pressure." He slipped on his -helmet, secured it to the neck ring and snapped on the face plate. He -turned the oxygen valve and felt the pressure build up within the suit -and helmet. The chronometer showed two minutes to go. He snapped a -glance around. Nagel peered at him through his thick face plate with a -worried expression. Larkwell's lips were compressed against his teeth. -His jaws worked spasmodically. Both were waiting, tense, watching him. - -Prochaska was the last to finish. Crag waited impatiently for him to -switch on his oxygen valve before picking up the bomb. He motioned the -others to stand back and began opening the dogs which secured the escape -hatch. He hesitated on the last one. The escaping air could whisk him -into space in a flash. The same thing had happened to crewmen riding in -bubbles that broke at high altitude. Whoosh! He'd be gone! Conceivably, -it could suck the cabin clean. Fortunately their gear had been secured -as protection against the high g forces of escape. Too late to lash -himself with the seat harnessing. Time was running out. Panic touched -his mind. Calm down, Crag, he told himself. Play it cool, boy. - -Prochaska saw his dilemma at the same instant. He squatted on the deck -and thrust his legs straight out from the hips, straddling one of the -seat supports. Larkwell and Nagel hurriedly followed suit. Crag cast a -backward glance at the chronometer--a minute and ten seconds to go! He -threw himself to one side of the hatch, squatted and hooked an arm into -a panel console, hoping it was strong enough. He laid the bomb on the -deck next to the hatch and reached up with his free hand, held his -breath, hesitated, and jarred the last dog loose. - -The hatch exploded open. A giant claw seemed to grab his body, pulling -him toward the opening. It passed as quickly as it came, leaving him -weak, breathless. The bomb had been whisked into space. He got to his -feet and grasped the hatch combing, looking out. It was a giddy, -vertiginous moment. Before him yawned a great purple-black maw, a -blacker purple than that seen through the view ports. It was studded -with unbelievably brilliant stars agleam with the hard luster of -diamonds--white diamonds and blue sapphires. - -_Something bright blinked in space._ - -He hesitated. The cold was already coming through his suit. He -remembered he hadn't turned on either the heating element or interphone -system. He drew the hatch shut and dogged it down, then switched both -on. The others saw his movements and followed suit. - -"See anything?" Prochaska was the first to ask. His voice sounded tinny -and far away. Crag adjusted his amplifier and said grimly: - -"It blew." - -"How ... how did it get here?" He identified the voice as Nagel's. - -He snapped brusquely, "That's what I'm going to find out." Larkwell was -silent. Nagel began fiddling with the oxygen valves. They waited, -quietly, each absorbed in his thoughts until Nagel indicated it was safe -to remove their suits. Crag's thoughts raced while he shucked the heavy -garments. It's past, he thought, but the saboteur's still here. Who? He -flicked his eyes over the men. Who? That's what he had to find -out--soon! When the suit was off, he hurriedly put through a call to -Gotch, reporting what had happened. - -The Colonel listened without comment. When Crag finished, he was silent -for a moment. Finally he replied: - -"Here's where we stand. We will immediately comb the record of every -intelligence agent involved in the last shakedown. We'll also recomb the -records of the Aztec crew, including yours. I've got to tell you this -because it's serious. If there's a saboteur aboard--and I think there -is--then the whole operation's in jeopardy. It'll be up to you to keep -your eyes open and analyze your men. We've tried to be careful. We've -checked everyone involved back to birth. But there's always the sleeper. -It's happened before." - -"Check," Crag said. "I only hope you don't catch up with all my early -peccadillos." - -"This is no time to be funny. Now, some more news for you. Washington -reports that the enemy launched another missile this morning." - -"Another one?" Crag sighed softly. This time there would be no -satelloid, no Pickering to give his life. - -The Colonel continued grimly. "Radar indicates this is a different kind -of rocket. Its rate of climb ... its trajectory ... indicates it's -manned. Now it's a race." - -Crag thought a moment. "Any sign of a drone with it?" - -"No, that's the surprising part, if this is a full-scale attempt at -establishing a moon base. And we believe it is." - -Crag asked sharply. "It couldn't be their atom-powered job?" The -possibility filled him with alarm. - -"Positively not. We've got our finger squarely on that one and it's a -good year from launch-date. No, this is a conventional rocket ... -perhaps more advanced than we had believed...." His voice dropped off. -"We'll keep you posted," he added after a minute. - -"Roger." Crag sighed. He removed the earphone reflectively. He wouldn't -tell the others yet. Now that they were in space maybe ... just -maybe ... he could find time to catch his breath. Damn, they hadn't -anticipated all this during indoctrination. The intercept-missile ... -time bomb ... possible traitor in the crew. What more could go wrong? -For just a second he felt an intense hostility toward Gotch. An Air -Force full of pilots and he had to pick him--and he wasn't even in the -Air Force at the time. Lord, he should have contented himself with -jockeying a jet airliner on some nice quiet hop. Like between L. A. and -Pearl ... with a girl at each end of the run. - -He thought wistfully about the prospect while he made a routine check of -the instruments. Cabin pressure normal ... temperature 78 degrees F. ... -nothing alarming in the radiation and meteor impact readings. Carbon -dioxide content normal. Things might get routine after all, he thought -moodily. Except for one thing. The new rocket flashing skyward from east -of the Caspian. One thing he was sure of. It spelled trouble. - - - - -CHAPTER 6 - - -The U. S. Navy's Space Scan Radar Station No. 5 picked up the new rocket -before it was fairly into space. It clung to it with an electromagnetic -train, bleeding it of data. The information was fed into computers, -digested, analyzed and transferred to Alpine Base, and thence -telemetered to the Aztec where it appeared as a pip on the analog -display. The grid had automatically adjusted to a 500-mile scale with -the positions of the intruder and Aztec separated by almost the width of -the instrument face. The Aztec seemed to have a clear edge in the race -for the moon. Prochaska became aware of the newcomer but refrained from -questions, nor did Crag volunteer any information. - -Just now he wasn't worrying about the East World rocket. Not at this -point. With Drone Able riding to starboard, the Aztec was moving at an -ever slower rate of speed. It would continue to decelerate, slowed by -the earth's pull as it moved outward, traveling on inertial force since -the silencing of its engines. By the time it reached the neutral zone -where the moon and earth gravispheres canceled each other, the Aztec -would have just enough speed left to coast into the moon's field of -influence. Then it would accelerate again, picking up speed until slowed -by its braking rockets. That was the hour that occupied his thoughts--a -time when he would be called upon for split-second decisions coming in -waves. - -He tried to anticipate every contingency. The mass ratio necessary to -inject the Aztec into its moon trajectory had precluded fuel beyond the -absolute minimum needed. The rocket would approach the moon in an -elliptical path, correct its heading to a north-south line relative to -the planet and decelerate in a tight spiral. At a precise point in space -he would have to start using the braking rockets, slow the ship until -they occupied an exact point in the infinite space-time continuum, then -let down into cliff-brimmed Arzachel, a bleak, airless, utterly alien -wasteland with but one virtue: Uranium. That and the fact that it -represented the gateway to the Solar System. - -He mentally reviewed the scene a hundred times. He would do this and -this and that. He rehearsed each step, each operation, each fleeting -second in which all the long years of planning would summate in victory -or disaster. He was the X in the equation in which the Y-scale was -represented by the radar altimeter. He would juggle speed, deceleration, -altitude, mass and a dozen other variables, keeping them in delicate -balance. Nor could he forget for one second the hostile architecture of -their destination. - -For all practical purposes Arzachel was a huge hole sunk in the moon--a -vast depression undoubtedly broken by rocks, rills, rough lava outcrops. -The task struck him as similar to trying to land a high-speed jet in a -well shaft. Well, almost as bad. - -He tried to anticipate possible contingencies, formulating his responses -to each. He was, he thought, like an actor preparing for his first -night. Only this time there would be no repeat performance. The critics -were the gods of chance in a strictly one-night stand. - -Gotch was the man who had placed him here. But the responsibility was -all his. Gotch! All he gave a damn about was the moon--a chunk of real -estate scorned by its Maker. Crag bit his lip ruefully. Stop feeling -sorry for yourself, boy, he thought. You asked for it--practically -begged for it. Now you've got it. - - * * * * * - -By the end of the second day the novelty of space had worn off. Crag and -Prochaska routinely checked the myriad of instruments jammed into the -faces of the consoles: Meteorite impact counters, erosion counters, -radiation counters--counters of all kinds. Little numbers on dials and -gauges that told man how he was faring in the wastelands of the -universe. Nagel kept a special watch on the oxygen pressure gauge. -Meteorite damage had been one of Gotch's fears. A hole the size of a -pinhead could mean eventual death through oxygen loss, hence Nagel -seldom let a half-hour pass without checking the readings. - -Crag and Prochaska spelled each other in brief catnaps. Larkwell, with -no duties to perform, was restless. At first he had passed long hours at -the viewports, uttering exclamations of surprise and delight from time -to time. But sight of the ebony sky with its fields of strewn jewels -had, in the end, tended to make him moody. He spent most of the second -day dozing. - -Nagel kept busy prowling through the oxygen gear, testing connections -and making minor adjustments. His seeming concern with the equipment -bothered Crag. The narrow escape with the time bomb had robbed him of -his confidence in the crew. He told himself the bomb could have been -planted during the last security shakedown. But a "sleeper" in security -seemed highly unlikely. So did a "sleeper" in the Aztec. Everyone of -them, he knew, had been scanned under the finest security microscope -almost from birth to the moment each had climbed the tall ladder leading -to the space cabin. - -He covertly watched Nagel, wondering if his prowling was a form of -escape, an effort to forget his fears. He was beginning to understand -the stark reality of Nagel's terror. It had been mirrored in his face, a -naked, horrible dread, during the recent emergency. No ... he wasn't the -saboteur type. Larkwell, maybe. Perhaps Prochaska. But not Nagel. A -saboteur would have iron nerves, a cold, icy fanaticism that never -considered danger. But supposing the man were a consummate actor, his -fear a mask to conceal his purpose? - -He debated the pros and cons. In the end he decided it would not be -politic to forbid Nagel to handle the gear during flight. He was, after -all, their oxygen equipment specialist. He contented himself with -keeping a sharp watch on Nagel's activities--a situation Nagel seemed -unmindful of. He seemed to have lost some of his earlier fear. His face -was alert, almost cheerful at times; yet it held the attitude of -watchful waiting. - -Despite his liking for Prochaska, Crag couldn't forget that he had -failed to find the time bomb in a panel he had twice searched. Still, -the console's complex maze of wiring and tubes had made an excellent -hiding place. He had to admit he was lucky to have found it himself. He -tried to push his suspicions from his mind without relaxing his -vigilance. It was a hard job. - -By the third day the enemy missile had become a prime factor in the -things he found to worry about. The intruder rocket had drawn closer. -Alpine warned that the race was neck and neck. It had either escaped -earth at a higher speed or had continued to accelerate beyond the escape -point. Crag regarded the reason as purely academic. The hard fact was -that it would eventually overtake the still decelerating Aztec. Just now -it was a pip on the analog, a pip which before long would loom as large -as Drone Able, perhaps as close. He tried to assess its meaning, vexed -that Alpine seemed to be doing so little to help in the matter. - -Later Larkwell spotted the pip made by the East's rocket on the scope. -That let the cat out of the bag as far as Crag was concerned. Soberly he -informed them of its origin. Larkwell bit his lip thoughtfully. Nagel -furrowed his brow, seemingly lost in contemplation. Prochaska's -expression never changed. Crag assessed each reaction. In fairness, he -also assessed his own feeling toward each of the men. He felt a positive -dislike of Nagel and a positive liking for Prochaska. Larkwell was a -neutral. He seemed to be a congenial, open-faced man who wore his -feelings in plain sight. But there was a quality about him which, try as -he would, he could not put his finger on. - -Nagel, he told himself, must have plenty on the ball. After all, he had -passed through a tough selection board. Just because the man's -personality conflicted with his own was no grounds for suspicion. But -the same reasoning could apply to the others. The fact remained--at -least Gotch seemed certain--that his crew numbered a ringer among them. -He was mulling it over when the communicator came to life. The message -was in moon code. - -It came slowly, widely spaced, as if Gotch realized Crag's limitations -in handling the intricate cipher system evolved especially for this one -operation. Learning it had caused him many a sleepless night. He copied -the message letter by letter, his understanding blanked by the effort -to decipher it. He finished, then quickly read the two scant lines: - -"_Blank channel to Alp unless survival need._" - -He studied the message for a long moment. Gotch was telling him not to -contact Alpine Base unless it were a life or death matter. Not that -everything connected with the operation wasn't a life or death matter, -he thought grimly. He decided the message was connected with the -presence of the rocket now riding astern and to one side of the Aztec -and her drone. He guessed the Moon Code had been used to prevent -possible pickup by the intruder rather than any secrecy involving his -own crew. - -He quietly passed the information to Prochaska. The Chief listened, -nodding, his eyes going to the analog. - -According to his computations, the enemy rocket--Prochaska had dubbed it -Bandit--would pass abeam of Drone Able slightly after they entered the -moon's gravitational field, about 24,000 miles above the planet's -surface. Then what? He pursed his lips vexedly. Bandit was a factor that -had to be considered, but just how he didn't know. One thing was -certain. The East knew about the load of uranium in Crater Arzachel. -That, then, was the destination of the other rocket. Among the many X -unknowns he had to solve, a new X had been added; the rocket from behind -the Iron Curtain. Something told him this would be the biggest X of all. - - - - -CHAPTER 7 - - -If Colonel Michael Gotch were worried, he didn't show it. He puffed -complacently on his black briar pipe watching and listening to the -leathery-faced man across from him. His visitor was angular, about -sixty, with gray-black hair and hard-squinted eyes. A livid scar bit -deep into his forehead; his mouth was a cold thin slash in his face. He -wore the uniform of a Major General in the United States Air Force. The -uniform did not denote the fact that its wearer was M.I.--Military -Intelligence. His name was Leonard Telford. - -"So that's the way it looks," General Telford was saying. "The enemy is -out to get Arzachel at all costs. Failing that, they'll act to keep us -from it." - -"They wouldn't risk war," Gotch stated calmly. - -"No, but neither would we. That's the damnable part of it," the General -agreed. "The next war spells total annihilation. But for that very -reason they can engage in sabotage and hostile acts with security of -knowledge that we won't go to war. Look at them now--the missile attack -on the Aztec, the time bomb plant, the way they operate their networks -right in our midst. Pure audacity. Hell, they've even got an agent _en -route_ to the moon. On our rocket at that." - -The Colonel nodded uncomfortably. The presence of a saboteur on the -Aztec represented a bungle in his department. The General was telling -him so in a not too gentle way. - -"I seem to recall I was in Astrakhan myself a few years back," he -reminded. - -"Oh, sure, we build pretty fair networks ourselves," the General said -blandly. He looked at Gotch and a rare smile crossed his face. "How did -you like the dancing girls in Gorik's, over by the shore?" - -Gotch looked startled, then grinned. "Didn't know you'd ever been that -far in, General." - -"Uh-huh, same time you were." - -"Well, I'll be damned," Gotch breathed softly. There was a note of -respect in his voice. The General was silent for a moment. - -"But the Caspian's hot now." - -"Meaning?" - -"Warheads--with the name Arzachel writ large across the nose cones." He -eyed Gotch obliquely. "If we secure Arzachel first, they'll blow it off -the face of the moon." They looked at each other silently. Outside a jet -engine roared to life. - - * * * * * - -The moon filled the sky. It was gigantic, breath-taking, a monstrous -sphere of cratered rock moving in the eternal silence of space with -ghostly-radiance, heedless that a minute mote bearing alien life had -entered its gravitational field. It moved in majesty along its orbit -some 2,300 miles every hour, alternately approaching to within 222,000 -miles of its Earth Mother, retreating to over 252,000 miles measuring -its strides by some strange cosmic clock. - -The Apennines, a rugged mountain range jutting 20,000 feet above the -planet's surface, was clearly visible. It rose near the Crater -Eratosthenes, running northwest some 200 miles to form the southwest -boundary of Mare Imbrium. The towering Leibnitz and Dorfel Mountains -were visible near the edge of the disc. South along the terminator, the -border between night and day, lay Ptolemaeus, Alphons, and Arzachel. - -Crag and Prochaska studied its surface, picking out the flat areas which -early astronomers had mistaken for seas and which still bore the names -of seas. The giant enclosure Clavius, the lagoon-like Plato and -ash-strewn Copernicus held their attention. Crag studied the north-south -line along which Arzachel lay, wondering again if they could seek out -such a relatively small area in the jumbled, broken, twisted land -beneath them. - -At some 210,000 miles from earth the Aztec had decelerated to a little -over 300 miles per hour. Shortly after entering the moon's gravisphere -it began to accelerate again. Crag studied the enemy rocket riding -astern. It would be almost abreast them in short time, off to one side -of the silver drone. It, too, was accelerating. - -"Going to be nip and tuck," he told Prochaska. The Chief nodded. - -"Don't like the looks of that stinker," he grunted. - -Crag watched the analog a moment longer before turning to the quartz -viewport. His eyes filled with wonder. For untold ages lovers had sung -of the moon, philosophers had pondered its mysteries, astronomers had -scanned and mapped every visible mile of its surface until selenography -had achieved an exactness comparable to earth cartography. Scientists -had proved beyond doubt that the moon wasn't made of green cheese. But -no human eye had ever beheld its surface as Crag was doing now--Crag, -Prochaska, Larkwell and Nagel. The latter two were peering through the -side ports. Prochaska and Crag shared the forward panel. It was a -tribute to the event that no word was spoken. Aside from the Chief's -occasional checks on Drone Able and Bandit--the name stuck--the four -pairs of eyes seldom left the satellite's surface. - -The landing plan called for circling the moon during which they were to -maneuver Drone Able into independent orbit. It was Crag's job to bring -the Aztec down at a precise point in Crater Arzachel and the Chief's job -to handle the drone landings, a task as ticklish as landing the Aztec -itself. - -The spot chosen for landing was in an area where the Crater's floor was -broken by a series of rills--wide, shallow cracks the earth scientists -hoped would give protection against the fall of meteorites. Due to lack -of atmosphere the particles in space, ranging from dust grains to huge -chunks of rock, were more lethal than bullets. They were another unknown -in the gamble for the moon. A direct hit by even a grain-sized particle -could puncture a space suit and bring instant death. A large one could -utterly destroy the rocket itself. Larkwell's job was to construct an -airlock in one of the rills from durable lightweight prefabricated -plastiblocks carried in the drones. Such an airlock would protect them -from all but vertically falling meteorites. - -Crag felt almost humble in the face of the task they were undertaking. -He knew his mind alone could grasp but a minute part of the knowledge -that went into making the expedition possible. Their saving lay in the -fact they were but agents, protoplasmic extensions of a complex of -computers, scientists, plans which had taken years to formulate, and a -man named Michael Gotch who had said: - -"_You will land on Arzachel._" - -He initiated the zero phase by ordering the crew into their pressure -suits. Prochaska took over while he donned his own bulky garment, -grimacing as he pulled the heavy helmet over his shoulders. Later, in -the last moments of descent, he would snap down the face plate and -pressurize the suit. Until then he wanted all the freedom the bulky -garments would allow. - -"Might as well get used to it." Prochaska grinned. He flexed his arms -experimentally. - -Larkwell grunted. "Wait till they're pressurized. You'll think rigor -mortis has set in." - -Crag grinned. "That's a condition I'm opposed to." - -"Amen." Larkwell gave a weak experimental jump and promptly smacked his -head against the low overhead. He was smiling foolishly when Nagel -snapped at him: - -"One more of those and you'll be walking around the moon without a -pressure suit." He peevishly insisted on examining the top of the helmet -for damage. - -Crag fervently hoped they wouldn't need the suits for landing. Any -damage that would allow the Aztec's oxygen to escape would in itself be -a death sentence, even though death might be dragged over the long -period of time it would take to die for lack of food. An intact space -cabin represented the only haven in which they could escape from the -cumbersome garments long enough to tend their biological needs. - -Imperceptibly the sensation of weight returned, but it was not the body -weight of earth. Even on the moon's surface they would weigh but -one-sixth their normal weight. - -"Skipper, look." Prochaska's startled exclamation drew Crag's eyes to -the radarscope. Bandit had made minute corrections in its course. - -"They're using steering rockets," Crag mused, trying to assess its -meaning. - -"Doesn't make sense," said Prochaska. "They can't have that kind of -power to spare. They'll need every bit they have for landing." - -"What's up?" Larkwell peered over their shoulders, eyeing the -radarscope. Crag bit off an angry retort. Larkwell sensed the rebuff and -returned away. They kept their eyes glued to the scope. Bandit -maneuvered to a position slightly behind and to one side of the silver -drone. Crag looked out the side port. Bandit was clearly visible, a -monstrous cylinder boring through the void with cold precision. There -was something ominous about it. He felt the hair prickle at the nape of -his neck. Larkwell moved alongside him. - -Bandit made another minute correction. White vapor shot from its tail -and it began to move ahead. - -"Using rocket power," Crag grunted. "Damn if I can figure that one out." - -"Looks crazy to me. I should think--" Prochaska's voice froze. A minute -pip broke off from Bandit, boring through space toward the silver drone. - -"Warhead!" Crag roared the word with cold anger. - -Prochaska cursed softly. - -One second Drone Able was there, riding serenely through space. The next -it disintegrated, blasted apart by internal explosions. Seconds later -only fragments of the drone were visible. - -Prochaska stared at Crag, his face bleak. Crag's brain reeled. He -mentally examined what had happened, culling his thoughts until one cold -fact remained. - -"Mistaken identity," he said softly. "They thought it was the Aztec." - -"Now what?" - -"Now we hope they haven't any more warheads." Crag mulled the -possibility. "Considering weight factors, I'd guess they haven't. -Besides, there's no profit in wasting a warhead on a drone." - -"We hope." Prochaska studied Bandit through the port, and licked his -lips nervously. "Think we ought to contact Alpine?" - -Crag weighed the question. Despite the tight beam, any communication -could be a dead giveaway. On the other hand, Bandit either had the -capacity to destroy them or it didn't. If it did, well, there wasn't -much they could do about it. He reached a decision and nodded to -Prochaska, then began coding his thoughts. - -He had trouble getting through on the communicator. Finally he got a -weak return signal, then sent a brief report. Alpine acknowledged and -cut off the air. - -"What now?" Prochaska asked, when Crag had finished. - -He shrugged and turned to the side port without answering. Bandit loomed -large, a long thick rocket with an oddly blunted nose. A monster that -was as deadly as it looked. - -"Big," he surmised. "Much bigger than this chunk of hardware." - -"Yeah, a regular battleship," Prochaska assented. He grinned crookedly. -"In more ways than one." - -Crag sensed movement at his shoulder and turned his head. Nagel was -studying the radarscope over his shoulder. Surprise lit his narrow face. - -"The drone?" - -"Destroyed," Crag said bruskly. "Bandit had a warhead." - -Nagel looked startled, then retreated to his seat without a word. Crag -returned his attention to the enemy rocket. - -"What do you think?" he asked Prochaska. - -His answer was solemn. "It spells trouble." - - - - -CHAPTER 8 - - -At a precise point in space spelled out by the Alpine computers Crag -applied the first braking rockets. He realized that the act had been an -immediate tip-off to the occupants of the other rocket. No matter, he -thought. Sooner or later they had to discover it was the drone they had -destroyed. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, their headlong flight was -slowed. He nursed the rockets with care. There was no fuel to spare, no -energy to waste, no room for error. Everything had been worked out long -beforehand; he was merely the agent of execution. - -The sensation of weight gradually increased. He ordered Larkwell and -Nagel into their seats in strapdown position. He and Prochaska shortly -followed, but he left his shoulder harnessing loose to give his arms the -vital freedom he needed for the intricate maneuvers ahead. - -The moon rushed toward them at an appalling rate. Its surface was a -harsh grille work of black and white, a nightmarish scape of pocks and -twisted mountains of rock rimming the flat lunar plains. It was, he -thought, the geometry of a maniac. There was no softness, no blend of -light and shadow, only terrible cleavages between black and white. Yet -there was a beauty that gripped his imagination; the raw, stark beauty -of a nature undefiled by life. No eye had ever seen the canopy of the -heavens from the bleak surface below; no flower had ever wafted in a -lunar breeze. - -Prochaska nudged his arm and indicated the scope. Bandit was almost -abreast them. Crag nodded understandingly. - -"No more warheads." - -"Guess we're just loaded with luck," Prochaska agreed wryly. - -They watched ... waited ... mindless of time. Crag felt the tension -building inside him. Occasionally he glanced at the chronometer, itching -for action. The wait seemed interminable. Minutes or hours? He lost -track of time. - -All at once his hands and mind were busy with the braking rockets, -dials, meters. First the moon had been a pallid giant in the sky; next -it filled the horizon. The effect was startling. The limb of the moon, -seen as a shallow curved horizon, no longer was smooth. It appeared as a -rugged saw-toothed arc, somehow reminding him of the Devil's Golf Course -in California's Death Valley. It was weird and wonderful, and slightly -terrifying. - -Prochaska manned the automatic camera to record the orbital and landing -phases. He spotted the Crater of Ptolemaeus first, near the center-line -of the disc. Crag made a minute correction with the steering rockets. -The enemy rocket followed suit. Prochaska gave a short harsh laugh -without humor. - -"Looks like we're piloting them in. Jeepers, you'd think they could do -their own navigation." - -"Shows the confidence they have in us," Crag retorted. - -They flashed high above Ptolemaeus, a crater ninety miles in diameter -rimmed by walls three thousand feet high. The crater fled by below them. -South lay Alphons; and farther south, Arzachel, with walls ten thousand -feet high rimming its vast depressed interior. - -Prochaska observed quietly: "Nice rugged spot. It's going to take some -doing." - -"Amen." - -"I'm beginning to get that what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here feeling." - -"I've had it right along," Crag confided. - -They caught only a fleeting look at Arzachel before it rushed into the -background. Crag touched the braking rockets from time to time, gently, -precisely, keeping his eyes moving between the radar altimeter and speed -indicator while the Chief fed him the course data. - -The back side of the moon was spinning into view--the side of the moon -never before seen by human eyes. Prochaska whistled softly. A huge -mountain range interlaced with valleys and chasms pushed some thirty -thousand feet into the lunar skies. Long streaks of ochre and brown -marked its sides, the first color they had seen on the moon. Flat -highland plains crested between the peaks were dotted with strange -monolithic structures almost geometrical in their distribution. - -Prochaska was shooting the scene with the automatic camera. Crag twisted -around several times to nod reassuringly to Nagel and Larkwell but each -time they were occupied with the side ports, oblivious of his gesture. -To his surprise Nagel's face was rapt, almost dreamy, completely -absorbed by the stark lands below. Larkwell, too, was quiet with wonder. - -The jagged mountains fell away to a great sea, larger even than Mare -Imbrium, and like Mare Imbrium, devoid of life. A huge crater rose from -its center, towering over twenty thousand feet. Beyond lay more -mountains. The land between was a wild tangle of rock, a place of -unutterable desolation. Crag was fascinated and depressed at the same -time. The Aztec was closing around the moon in a tight spiral. - -The alien landscape drew visibly nearer. He switched his attention -between the braking rockets and instruments, trying to manage a quick -glance at the scope. Prochaska caught his look. - -"Bandit's up on us," he confirmed. - -Crag uttered a vile epithet and Prochaska grinned. He liked to hear him -growl, taking it as a good sign. - -Crag glanced worriedly at the radar altimeter and hit the braking -rockets harder. The quick deceleration gave the impression of added -weight, pushing them hard against their chest harnesses. - -He found it difficult to make the precise hand movements required. The -Aztec was dropping with frightening rapidity. They crossed more -mountains, seas, craters, great chasms. Time had become meaningless--had -ceased to exist. The sheer bleakness of the face of the moon gripped his -imagination. He saw it as the supreme challenge, the magnitude of which -took his breath. He was Cortez scanning the land of the Aztecs. More, -for this stark lonely terrain had never felt the stir of life. No -benevolent Maker had created this chaos. It was an inferno without -fire--a hell of a kind never known on earth. It was the handiwork of a -nature on a rampage--a maddened nature whose molding clay had been -molten lava. - -He stirred the controls, moved them further, holding hard. The braking -rockets shook the ship, coming through the bulkheads as a faint roar. -The ground came up fast. Still the landscape fled by--fled past for -seeming days. - -Prochaska announced wonderingly. "We've cleared the back side. You're on -the landing run, Skipper." - -Crag nodded grimly, thinking it was going to be rough. Each second, each -split second had to be considered. There was no margin for error. No -second chance. He checked and re-checked his instruments, juggling speed -against altitude. - -Ninety-mile wide Ptolemaeus was coming around again--fast. He caught a -glimpse through the floor port. It was a huge saucer, level at the -bottom, rimmed by low cliffs which looked as though they had been carved -from obsidian. The floor was split by irregular chasms, punctuated by -sharp high pinnacles. It receded and Alphons rushed to meet them. The -Aztec was dropping fast. Too fast? Crag looked worriedly at the radar -altimeter and hit the braking rockets harder. Alphons passed more -slowly. They fled south, a slim needle in the lunar skies. - -"Arzachel...." He breathed the name almost reverently. - -Prochaska glanced out the side port before hurriedly consulting the -instruments. Thirty thousand feet! He glanced worriedly at Crag. The -ground passed below them at a fantastic speed. They seemed to be -dropping faster. The stark face of the planet hurtled to meet them. - -"Fifteen thousand feet," Prochaska half-whispered. Crag nodded. "Twelve -thousand ... ten ... eight...." The Chief continued to chant the -altitude readings in a strained voice. Up until then the face of the -moon had seemed to rush toward the Aztec. All at once it changed. Now it -was the Aztec that rushed across the hostile land--rushing and dropping. -"Three thousand ... two thousand...." They flashed high above a great -cliff which fell away for some ten thousand feet. At its base began the -plain of Arzachel. - -Out of the corner of his eye Crag saw that Bandit was leading -them. But higher ... much higher. Now it was needling into the -purple-black--straight up. He gave a quick, automatic instrument check. -The braking rockets were blasting hard. He switched one hand to the -steering rockets. - -Zero minute was coming up. Bandit was ahead, but higher. It could, he -thought, be a photo finish. Suddenly he remembered his face plate and -snapped it shut, opening the oxygen valve. The suit grew rigid on his -body and hampered his arms. He cursed softly and looked sideways at -Prochaska. He was having the same difficulty. Crag managed a quick -over-the-shoulder glance at Larkwell and Nagel. Everything seemed okay. - -He took a deep breath and applied full deceleration with the braking -jets and simultaneously began manipulating the steering rockets. The -ship vibrated from stem to stern. The forward port moved upward; the -face of the moon swished past and disappeared. Bandit was lost to sight. -The ship trembled, shuddered and gave a violent wrench. Crag was thrown -forward. - -The Aztec began letting down, tail first. It was a sickening moment. The -braking rockets astern, heavy with smoke, thundered through the hull. -The smoke blanketed out the ports. The cabin vibrated. He straightened -the nose with the steering rockets, letting the ship fall in a vertical -attitude, tail first. He snapped a glance at the radar altimeter and -punched a button. - -A servo mechanism somewhere in the ship started a small motor. A tubular -spidery metal framework was projected out from the tail, extending some -twenty feet before it locked into position. It was a failing device -intended to absorb the energy generated by the landing impact. - -Prochaska looked worriedly out the side port. Crag followed his eyes. -Small details on the plain of Arzachel loomed large--pits, cracks, low -ridges of rock. Suddenly the plain was an appalling reality. Rocky -fingers reached to grip them. He twisted his head until he caught sight -of Bandit. It was moving down, tail first, but it was still high in the -sky. Too high, he thought. He took a fast look at the radar altimeter -and punched the full battery of braking rockets again. The force on his -body seemed unbearable. Blood was forced into his head, blurring his -vision. His ears buzzed and his spine seemed to be supporting some -gigantic weight. The pressure eased and the ground began moving up more -slowly. The rockets were blasting steadily. - -For a split-second the ship seemed to hang in mid-air followed by a -violent shock. The cabin teetered, then smashed onto the plain, swaying -as the framework projecting from the tail crumpled. The shock drove them -hard into their seats. They sat for a moment before full realization -dawned. They were down--alive! - -Crag and Prochaska simultaneously began shucking their safety belts. -Crag was first. He sprang to the side port just in time to see the last -seconds of Bandit's landing. It came down fast, a perpendicular needle -stabbing toward the lunar surface. Flame spewed from its braking -rockets; white smoke enveloped its nose. - -Fast ... too fast, he thought. Suddenly the flame licked out. Fuel -error. The thought flashed through his mind. The fuel Bandit had wasted -in space maneuvering to destroy the drone had left it short. The rocket -seemed to hang in the sky for a scant second before it plummeted -straight down, smashing into the stark lunar landscape. The Chief had -reached his side just in time to witness the crash. - -"That's all for them," he said. "Can't say I'm sorry." - -"Serves 'em damn well right," growled Crag. He became conscious of Nagel -and Larkwell crowding to get a look and obligingly moved to one side -without taking his eyes from the scene. He tried to judge Bandit's -distance. - -"Little over two miles," he estimated aloud. - -"You can't tell in this vacuum," Prochaska advised. "Your eyes play you -tricks. Wait'll I try the scope." A moment later he turned admiringly -from the instrument. - -"Closer to three miles. Pretty good for a green hand." - -Crag laughed, a quiet laugh of self-satisfaction, and said, "I could use -a little elbow room. Any volunteers?" - -"Liberty call," Prochaska sang out. "All ashore who's going ashore. The -gals are waiting." - -"I'm a little tired of this sardine can, myself," Larkwell put in. -"Let's get on our Sunday duds and blow. I'd like to do the town." There -was a murmur of assent. Nagel, who was monitoring the oxygen pressure -gauge, spoke affirmatively. "No leaks." - -"Good," Crag said with relief. He took a moment off to feel exultant but -the mood quickly vanished. There was work ahead--sheer drudgery. - -"Check suit pressure," he ordered. - -They waited a moment longer while they tested pressure, the interphones, -and adjusted to the lack of body weight before Crag moved toward the -hatch. Prochaska prompted them to actuate their temperature controls: - -"It's going to be hot out there." - -Crag nodded, checked his temperature dial and started to open the hatch. -The lock-lever resisted his efforts for a moment. He tested the dogs -securing the door. Several of them appeared jammed. Panic touched his -mind. He braced his body, moving against one of the lock levers with all -his strength. It gave, then another. He loosened the last lock braced -against the blast of escaping air. The hatch exploded open. - -He stood for a moment looking at the ground, some twenty feet below. The -metal framework now crumpled below the tail had done its work. It had -struck, failing, and in doing so had absorbed a large amount of impact -energy which otherwise would have been absorbed by the body of the -rocket with possible damage to the space cabin. - -The Aztec's tail fins were buried in what appeared to be a powdery ash. -The rocket was canted slightly but, he thought, not dangerously so. -Larkwell broke out the rope ladder provided for descent and was looking -busy. Now it was his turn to shine. He hooked the ladder over two pegs -and let the other end fall to the ground. He tested it then straightened -up and turned to Crag. - -"You may depart, Sire." - -Crag grinned and started down the ladder. It was clumsy work. The bulk -and rigidity of his suit made his movements uncertain, difficult. He -descended slowly, testing each step. He hesitated at the last rung, -thinking: _This is it!_ He let his foot dangle above the surface for a -moment before plunging it down into the soft ash mantle, then walked a -few feet, ankle deep in a fine gray powder. First human foot to touch -the moon, he thought. The first human foot ever to step beyond the -world. Yeah, the human race was on the way--led by Adam Philip Crag. He -felt good. - -It occurred to him then that he was not the real victor. That honor -belonged to a man 240,000 miles away. Gotch had won the moon. It had -been the opaque-eyed Colonel who had directed the conquest. He, Crag, -was merely a foot soldier. Just one of the troops. All at once he felt -humble. - -Prochaska came down next, followed by Nagel. Larkwell was last. They -stood in a half-circle looking at each other, awed by the thing they had -done. No one spoke. They shifted their eyes outward, hungrily over the -plain, marveling at the world they had inherited. It was a bleak, -hostile world encompassed in a bowl whose vast depressed interior -alternately was burned and frozen by turn. To their north the rim of -Arzachel towered ten thousand feet, falling away as it curved over the -horizon to the east and west. The plain to the south was a flat expanse -of gray punctuated by occasional rocky knolls and weird, needle-sharp -pinnacles, some of which towered to awesome heights. - -Southeast a long narrow spur of rock rose and crawled over the floor of -the crater for several miles before it dipped again into its ashy bed. -Crag calculated that a beeline to Bandit would just about skirt the -southeast end of the spur. Another rock formation dominated the -middle-expanse of the plain to the south. It rose, curving over the -crater floor like the spinal column of some gigantic lizard--a great -crescent with its horns pointed toward their present position. Prochaska -promptly dubbed it "Backbone Ridge," a name that stuck. - -Crag suddenly remembered what he had to do, and coughed meaningfully -into his lip mike. The group fell silent. He faced the distant northern -cliffs and began to speak: - -"I, Adam Crag, by the authority vested in me by the Government of the -United States of America, do hereby claim this land, and all the lands -of the moon, as legal territory of the United States of America, to be a -dominion of the United States of America, subject to its Government and -laws." - -When he finished, he was quiet for a minute. "For the record, this is -Pickering Field. I think he'd like that," he added. There was a lump in -his throat. - -Prochaska said quietly, "Gotch will like it, too. Hadn't we better -record that and transmit it to Alpine?" - -"It's already recorded." Crag grinned. "All but the Pickering Field -part. Gotch wrote it out himself." - -"Confident bastard." Larkwell smiled. "He had a lot more faith than I -did." - -"Especially the way you brought that stovepipe down," Nagel interjected. -There was a moment of startled silence. - -Prochaska said coldly. "I hope you do your job as well." - -Nagel looked provocatively at him but didn't reply. - -Larkwell had been studying the terrain. "Wish Able had made it," he said -wistfully. "I'd like to get started on that airlock. It's going to be a -honey to build." - -"Amen." Crag swept his eyes over the ashy surface. "The scientists -figure that falling meteorites may be our biggest hazard." - -"Not if we follow the plan of building our airlock in a rill," Larkwell -interjected. "Then the only danger would be from stuff coming straight -down." - -"Agreed. But the fact remains that we lost Able. We'll have to chance -living in the Aztec until Drone Baker arrives." - -"If it makes it." - -"It'll make it," Crag answered with certainty. Their safe landing had -boosted his confidence. They'd land Baker and Charlie, in that order, he -thought. They'd locate a shallow rill; then they'd build an airlock to -protect them against chance meteorites. That's the way they'd do it; -one ... two ... three.... - -"We've got it whipped," Prochaska observed, but his voice didn't hold -the certainty of his words. - -Crag said, "I was wondering if we couldn't assess the danger. It might -not be so great...." - -"How?" Prochaska asked curiously. - -"No wind, no air, no external forces to disturb the ash mantle, except -for meteorites. Any strike would leave a trace. We might smooth off a -given area and check for hits after a couple of days. That would give -some idea of the danger." He faced Prochaska. - -"What do you think?" - -"But the ash itself is meteorite dust," he protested. - -"We could at least chart the big hits--those large enough to damage the -rocket." - -"We'll know if any hit," Larkwell prophesied grimly. - -"Maybe not;" Nagel cut in. "Supposing it's pinhole size? The air could -seep out and we wouldn't know it until too late." - -Crag said decisively. "That means we'll have to maintain a watch over -the pressure gauge." - -"That won't help if it's a big chunk." Prochaska scraped his toe through -the ash. "The possibility's sort of disconcerting." - -"Too damned many occupational hazards for me," Larkwell ventured. "I -must have had rocks in my head when I volunteered for this one." - -"All brawn and no brain." Crag gave a wry smile. "That's the kind of -fodder that's needed for deep space." - -Prochaska said, "We ought to let Gotch know he's just acquired a few -more acres." - -"Right." Crag hesitated a moment. "Then we'll check out on Bandit." - -"Why?" Larkwell asked. - -"There might be some survivors." - -"Let them rot," Nagel growled. - -"That's for me to decide," Crag said coldly. He stared hard at the -oxygen man. "We're still human." - -Nagel snapped, "They're damned murderers." - -"That's no reason we should be." Crag turned back toward the ladder. -When he reached it, he paused and looked skyward. The sun was a precise -circle of intolerable white light set amid the ebony of space. The stars -seemed very close. - -The space cabin was a vacuum. At Nagel's suggestion they kept pressure -to a minimum to preserve oxygen. When they were out of their suits, -Prochaska got on the radio. He had difficulty raising Alpine Base, -working for several minutes before he got an answering signal. When the -connection was made, Crag moved into Prochaska's place and switched to -his ear insert microphone. He listened to the faint slightly metallic -voice for a moment before he identified it as Gotch's. He thought: _The -Old Man must be living in the radio shack._ He adjusted his headset and -sent a lengthy report. - -If Gotch were jubilant over the fruition of his dream, he carefully -concealed it. He congratulated Crag and the crew, speaking in precise -formal terms, and almost immediately launched into a barrage of -questions regarding their next step. The Colonel's reaction nettled him. -Lord, he should be jubilant ... jumping with joy ... waltzing the -telephone gal. Instead he was speaking with a business-as-usual manner. -Gotch left it up to Crag on whether or not to attempt a rescue -expedition. - -"But not if it endangers the expedition in any way," he added. He -informed him that Drone Baker had been launched without mishap. "Just -be ready for her," he cautioned. "And again--congratulations, -Commander." There was a pause.... - -"I think Pickering Field is a fitting name." The voice in the earphones -died away and Crag found himself listening to the static of space. He -pulled the sets off and turned to Nagel. - -"How much oxygen would a man need for a round trip to Bandit, assuming a -total distance of seven miles." - -"It's not that far," Prochaska reminded. - -"There might be detours." - -Nagel calculated rapidly. "An extra cylinder would do it." - -"Okay, Larkwell and I'll go. You and Prochaska stand by." Crag caught -the surprised look on the Chief's face. - -"There might be communication problems," he explained. Privately, he had -decided that no man would be left alone until the mystery of the time -bomb was cleared up. - -Prochaska nodded. The arrangement made sense. Nagel appeared pleased -that he didn't have to make the long trek. Larkwell, on the other hand, -seemed glad to have been chosen. - - - - -CHAPTER 9 - - -There is no dawn on the moon, no dusk, no atmosphere to catch and spread -the light of the sun. When the lunar night ends--a night two earth weeks -long--the sun simply pops over the horizon, bringing its intolerable -heat. But the sky remains black--black and sprinkled with stars agleam -with a light unknown on earth. At night the temperature is 250 degrees -below zero; by day it is the heat of boiling water. Yet the sun is but -an intense circle of white aloft in a nigrescent sky. It was a world -such as Crag had scarcely dreamed of--alien, hostile, fantastic in its -architecture--a bizarre world spawned by a nature in revolt. - -Crag stopped to adjust the temperature control on his suit. He started -to mop his brow before he remembered the helmet. Larkwell saw the -gesture, and behind his thick face plate his lips wrinkled in a grin. -"Go on, scratch it," he challenged. - -"This moon's going to take a lot of getting used to." Crag swept his -eyes over the bleak plain. "And they send four men to conquer this." - -"It ain't conquered yet," Larkwell spat. - -Crag's answer was a sober reflection. "No, it isn't," he said quietly. -He contemplated the soot-filled sky, its magic lanterns, then looked -down again at the plain. - -"Let's get moving." - - * * * * * - -It was dawn--dawn in the sense that the sun had climbed above the -horizon. The landing had been planned for sunup--the line which divided -night from day--to give them the benefit of a two-week day before -another instantaneous onslaught of night. - -They moved slowly across the ashy floor of the crater, occasionally -circling small knolls or jagged rock outcroppings. Despite the -cumbersome suits and the burden of the extra oxygen cylinder each -carried, they made good time. Crag led the way with Larkwell close -behind, threading his way toward the spot where the enemy rocket had -fallen from the sky. They had to stop several times to rest and regulate -their temperature controls. Despite the protective garments they were -soon sweating and panting, gasping for breath with the feeling of -suffocation. Crag felt the water trickling down his body in rivulets -and began to itch, a sensation that was almost a pain. - -"It's not going to be a picnic," Larkwell complained. His voice sounded -exhausted in the earphones. - -Crag grunted without answering. His feet ploughed up little spurts of -dust which fell as quickly as they rose. Like water dropping, he -thought. He wondered how long they would be able to endure the heat. -Could they possibly adapt their bodies to such an environment? What of -the cold of night? The questions bothered him. He tried to visualize -what it would be like to plunge from boiling day to the bitterly cold -night within the space of moments. Would they be able to take it? He -grinned to himself. They'd find out! - -At the next halt they looked back at the Aztec. - -"We don't seem to be getting anywhere," Larkwell observed. Crag -contemplated the rocket. He was right. The ship seemed almost as large -and clear as ever. - -"Your eyes trick you," he said. "It's just another thing we'll have to -get used to." He let his eyes linger on the plain. It was washed with a -brilliant light which even their glare shields didn't diminish. Each -rock, each outcrop cast long black shadows--black silhouettes against -the white ash. There were no grays, no intermediate shades. Everything -was either black or white. His eyes began to ache and he turned them -from the scene. He nodded at Larkwell and resumed his trek. He was -trudging head down when he suddenly stopped. A chasm yawned at his feet. - -"Mighty wide," Larkwell observed, coming up. - -"Yeah," said Crag, indecisively. The rift was about twenty feet wide, -its bottom lost in black shadows. - -Larkwell studied the chasm carefully. "Might be just the rill we need -for an airlock. If it's not too deep," he added. He picked up a boulder -and dropped it over the edge, waiting expectantly. Crag chuckled. The -construction man had forgotten that sound couldn't be transmitted -through a vacuum. Larkwell caught the laugh in his earphones and smiled -weakly. - -He said sheepishly, "Something else to learn." - -"We've plenty to learn." Crag looked both ways. To the right the chasm -seemed to narrow and, although he wasn't sure, end. - -"Let's try it," he suggested. Larkwell nodded agreement. They trudged -along the edge of the fissure, walking slowly to conserve their energy. -The plain became more uneven. Small outcroppings of black glassy rock -punctured the ash, becoming more numerous as they progressed. Occasional -saw-toothed needles pierced the sky. Several times they stopped and -looked back at the Aztec. It was a black cylinder, smaller yet seemingly -close. - -Crag's guess was right. The chasm narrowed abruptly and terminated at -the base of a small knoll. Both rockets were now hidden by intervening -rocks. He hesitated before striking out, keeping Backbone Ridge to his -right. The ground became progressively more uneven. They trudged onward -for over a mile before he caught sight of the Aztec again. He paused, -with the feeling something was wrong. Larkwell put it into words. - -"Lost." - -"Not lost, but off course." Crag took a moment to get his bearings and -then struck out again thinking their oxygen supply couldn't stand many -of these mistakes. - -"How you doing, Skipper?" - -Crag gave a start before remembering that Prochaska and Nagel were cut -into their intercom. - -"Lousy," he told them. He gave a brief run-down. - -"Just happened to think that I could help guide you. I'll work you with -the scope," Prochaska said. - -"Of course," Crag exclaimed, wondering why they hadn't thought of it -before. One thing was certain: they'd have to start remembering a lot -of things. Thereafter, they checked with Prochaska every few minutes. - -The ground constantly changed as they progressed. One moment it was -level, dusty with ash; the next it was broken by low rocky ridges and -interlacing chasms. Minutes extended into seeming hours and they had to -stop for rest from time to time. Crag was leading the way across a small -ravine when Larkwell's voice brought him up short: - -"Commander, we're forgetting something." - -"What?" - -"Radcounters. Mine's whispering a tune I didn't like." - -"Not a thing to worry about," Crag assured him. "The raw ores aren't -that potent." Nevertheless he unhooked his counter and studied it. -Larkwell was right. They were on hot ground but the count was low. - -"Won't bother us a bit," he affirmed cheerfully. - -Larkwell's answer was a grunt. Crag checked the instrument several times -thinking that before long--when they were settled--they would mark off -the boundaries of the lode. Gotch would want that. The count rose -slightly. Once he caught Larkwell nervously consulting his meter. -Clearly the construction boss wasn't too happy over their position. Crag -wanted to tell him he had been reading too many Sunday supplements but -didn't. - -Prochaska broke in, "You're getting close." His voice was a faint -whisper over the phones. "Maybe you'd better make a cautious approach." - -Crag remembered the fate of Drone Able and silently agreed. Thereafter -he kept his eyes peeled. They climbed a small knoll and saw Bandit. He -abruptly halted, waiting until Larkwell reached his side. - -The rocket lay at the base of the slope, which fell away before them. It -was careened at a crazy angle with its base crumpled. A wide cleft -running half way to its nose was visible. Crag studied the rocket -carefully. - -"Might still be oxygen in the space cabin," he ventured finally. "The -break in the hull might not reach that far." - -"It does," Larkwell corrected. His eyes, trained in construction work, -had noted small cracks in the metal extending up alongside the hatch. - -"No survivors in there," he grunted. - -Crag said thoughtfully: "Might be, if they had on their pressure suits. -And they would have," he added. - -He hesitated before striking across the clearing, then began moving down -the slope. Larkwell followed slowly. As he neared the rocket Crag saw -that it lacked any type of failing device to absorb the landing impact. -That, at least, had been one secret kept, he thought. He was wondering -how to get into the space cabin when Larkwell solved the problem. He -drew a thin hemp line from a leg pocket and began uncoiling it. Crag -smiled approval. - -"Never without one in the construction business," he explained. He -studied Bandit. "Maybe I can hook it over the top of that busted tail -fin, then work my way up the break in the hull." - -"Let me try," Crag offered. The climb looked hazardous. - -"This is my province." Larkwell snorted. He ran his eye over the ship -before casting the line. He looked surprised when it shot high above the -intended target point. - -"Keep forgetting the low gravity," he apologized. He tried again. On the -third throw he hooked the line over the torn tailfin. He rubbed his -hands against his suit then started upward, climbing clumsily, each -movement exaggerated by the bulky suit. He progressed slowly, testing -each step. Crag held his breath. Larkwell gripped the line with his body -swung outward, his feet planted against the vertical metal, reminding -Crag of a human fly. He stopped to rest just below the level of the -space cabin. - -"Thought a man was supposed to be able to jump thirty feet on the moon," -he panted. - -"You can if you peel those duds off," Crag replied cheerfully. He ran -his eye over the break noting the splintered metal. "Be careful of your -suit." - -Larkwell didn't answer. He was busy again trying to pull his body -upward, using the break in the hull to obtain finger grips. Only the -moon's low gravity allowed him to perform what looked like an impossible -task. He finally reached a point alongside the hatch and paused, -breathing heavily. He rested a moment, then carefully inserted his hand -into the break in the hull. After a moment he withdrew it, and fumbled -in his leg pocket withdrawing a switchblade knife. - -"Got to cut through the lining," he explained. He worked the knife -around inside the break for several minutes, then closed the blade and -reinserted his hand, feeling around until he located the lockbar. - -He tugged. It didn't give. He braced his body and exerted all of his -strength. This time it moved. He rested a moment then turned his -attention to the remaining doglocks. In short time he had the hatch -open. Carefully, then, he pulled his body across to the black rectangle -and disappeared inside. - -"See anything?" Crag shifted his feet restlessly. - -"Dead men." Larkwell's voice sounded relieved over the phones. "Smashed -face plates." There was a long moment of silence. Crag waited -impatiently. - -"Just a second," he finally reported. "Looks like a live one." There was -another interval of silence while Crag stewed. Finally he appeared in -the opening with a hemp ladder. - -"Knew they had to have some way of getting out of this trap," he -announced triumphantly. He knelt and secured one end to the hatch -combing and let the other end drop to the ground. - -Crag climbed to meet him. Larkwell extended a hand and helped him -through the hatch. One glance at the interior of the cabin told him that -any life left was little short of a miracle. The man in the pilot's seat -lay with his faceplate smashed against the instrument panel. The top of -his fiberglass helmet had shattered and the top of his head was a bloody -mess. A second crewman was sprawled over the communication console with -his face smashed into the radarscope. His suit had been ripped from -shoulder to waist and one leg was twisted at a crazy angle. Crag turned -his eyes away. - -"Here," Larkwell grunted. He was bent over the third and last crewman, -who had been strapped in a bucket seat immediately behind the pilot. -Crag moved to his side and looked down at the recumbent figure. The -man's suit seemed to have withstood the terrible impact. His helmet -looked intact, and his faceplate was clouded. - -Prochaska nodded affirmatively. "Breathing," he said. - -Crag knelt and checked the unconscious man as best he could before -finally getting back to his feet. - -"It's going to be a helluva job getting him back." - -Larkwell's eyes opened with surprise. "You mean we're going to lug that -bastard back to the Aztec?" - -"We are." - -Larkwell didn't reply. Crag loosened the unconscious man from his -harnessing. Larkwell watched for a while before stooping to help. When -the last straps were free they pulled him close to the edge of the hatch -opening. Crag made a mental inventory of the cabin while Larkwell -unscrewed two metal strips from a bulkhead and laced straps from the -safety harnessing between them, making a crude stretcher. - -Crag opened a narrow panel built into the rear bulkhead and -involuntarily whistled into his lip mike. It contained two -short-barreled automatic rifles and a supply of ammunition. Larkwell -eyed the arms speculatively. - -"Looks like they expected good hunting," he observed. - -"Yeah," Crag grimly agreed. He slammed the metal panel shut and looked -distastefully at the unconscious man. "I've a damned good notion to -leave him here." - -"That's what I was thinking." - -Crag debated, and finally shrugged his shoulders. "Guess we're elected -as angels of mercy. Well, let's go." - -"Yeah, Florence Nightingale Larkwell," the construction boss spat. He -looped a line under the unconscious man's arms and rolled him to the -brink of the opening. - -"Ought to shove him out and let him bounce a while," he growled. - -Crag didn't answer. He ran the other end of the line around a metal -stanchion and signaled Larkwell to edge the inert figure through the -hatch. Crag let the line out slowly until it became slack. Larkwell -straightened up and leaned against the hatch combing with a foolish look -on his face. Crag took one look at his gaping expression. - -"Oxygen," he snapped. Larkwell looked blank. He seized the extra -cylinder from his belt and hooked it into Larkwell's suit, turning the -valve. Larkwell started to sway, and almost fell through the hatch -combing before Crag managed to pull him to safety. - -Within moments comprehension dawned on Larkwell's face. Crag quickly -checked his own oxygen. It was low. Too low. The time they had lost -taking the wrong route ... the time taken to open Bandit's hatch ... had -upset Nagel's oxygen calculations. It was something else to remember in -the future. He switched cylinders, then made a rapid calculation. It was -evident they couldn't carry the injured man back with the amount of -oxygen remaining. He got on the interphones and outlined the problem to -Nagel. - -"Try one of Bandit's cylinders," he suggested. "They just might fit." - -"No go. I've already looked them over." He kicked the problem around in -his mind. - -"Here's the routine," he told him. "You start out to meet us with a -couple of extra cylinders. We'll take along a couple of Bandit's spares -to last this critter until you can modify the valves on his suit to fit -our equipment. Prochaska can guide the works. Okay?" - -"Roger," Prochaska cut in. Nagel gave an affirmative grunt. - -Crag lowered two of Bandit's cylinders and the stretcher to the floor of -the crater, then took a last look around the cabin. Gotch, he knew, -would ask him a thousand technical questions regarding the rocket's -construction, equipment, and provisioning. He filed the mental pictures -away for later analysis and turned to Larkwell. - -"Let's go." They descended to the plain and rolled the unconscious -crewman onto the stretcher. Crag grunted as he hoisted his end. It -wasn't going to be easy. - -The return trip proved a nightmare. Despite the moon's low surface -gravity--one-sixth that of earth--the stretcher seemed an intolerable -weight pulling at their arms. They trudged slowly toward the Aztec with -Crag in the lead, their feet kicking up little fountains of dust. - -Before they had gone half a mile, they were sweating profusely and their -arms and shoulders ached under their burden. Larkwell walked silently, -steadily, but his breath was becoming a hoarse pant in Crag's earphones. -The thought came to Crag that they wouldn't make it if, by any chance, -Nagel failed to meet them. But he can't fail--not with Prochaska guiding -them, he thought. - -They reached the end of the rill and stopped to rest. Crag checked his -oxygen meter. Not good. Not good at all, but he didn't say anything to -Larkwell. The construction boss swung his eyes morosely over the plain -and cursed. - -"Nine planets and thirty-one satellites in the Solar System and we had -to pick this dog," he grumbled. "Gotch must be near-sighted." - -Crag sighed and picked up his end of the stretcher. When Larkwell had -followed suit they resumed their trek. They were moving around the base -of a small knoll when Larkwell's foot struck a pothole in the ash and he -stumbled. He dropped the end of the stretcher in trying to regain his -balance. It struck hard against the ground, transmitting the jolt to -Crag's aching shoulders. He lowered his end of the stretcher, fearful -the plow had damaged the injured man's helmet. Larkwell watched -unsympathetically while he examined it. - -"Won't make much difference," he said. - -Crag managed a weak grin. "Remember, we're angels of mercy." - -"Yeah, carrying Lucifer." - -The helmet proved intact. Crag sighed and signaled to move on. They -hoisted the stretcher and resumed their slow trek toward the Aztec. - -Crag's body itched from perspiration. His face was hot, flushed and his -heart thudded in his ears. Larkwell's breathing became a harsh rasp in -the interphones. Occasionally Prochaska checked their progress. Crag -thought Nagel was making damned poor time. He looked at his oxygen meter -several times, finally beginning to worry. Larkwell put his fears into -words. - -"We'd better drop this character and light out for the Aztec," he -growled. "We're not going to make it this way." - -"Nagel should reach us soon." - -"Soon won't be soon enough." - -"Nagel! Get on the ball," Crag snapped curtly into the interphones. - -"Moving right along." The oxygen man's voice was a flat imperturbed -twang. Crag fought to keep his temper under control. Nagel's calm was -maddening. But it was their necks that were in danger. He repressed his -anger, wondering again at the wisdom of trying to save the enemy -crewman. If he lived? - -In short time Larkwell was grumbling again. He was on the point of -telling him to shut up when Nagel appeared in the distance. He was -moving slowly, stooped under the weight of the spare oxygen cylinders. -He appeared somewhat like an ungainly robot, moving with mechanical -steps--the movements of a machine rather than a man. Crag kept his eyes -on him. Nagel never faltered, never changed pace. His figure grew -steadily nearer, a dark mechanical blob against the gray ash. Crag -suddenly realized that Nagel wasn't stalling; he simply lacked the -strength for what was expected of him. Somehow the knowledge added to -his despair. - -They met a short time later. Nagel dropped his burden in the ash and -squirmed to straighten his body. He looked curiously at the figure in -the stretcher, then at Crag. - -"Doesn't make much sense to me," he said critically. "Where are we going -to get the oxygen to keep this bird alive?" - -"That's my worry," Crag snapped shortly. - -"Seems to me it's mine," Nagel pointed out. "I'm the oxygen man." - -Crag probed the voice for defiance. There was none. Nagel was merely -stating a fact--an honest worry. His temper was subsiding when Larkwell -spoke. - -"He's right. This bird's a parasite. We ought to heave him in the rill. -Hell, we've got worries enough without...." - -"Knock it off," Crag snarled harshly. There was a short silence during -which the others looked defiantly at him. - -"Stop the bickering and let's get going," Crag ordered. He felt on the -verge of an explosion, wanted to lash out. Take it easy, he told -himself. - -With fresh oxygen and three men the remainder of the trip was easier. -Prochaska was waiting for them. He helped haul the Bandit crewman to the -safety of the space cabin. When it was pressurized they removed their -suits and Crag began to strip the heavy space garments from the injured -man's body. He finished and stepped back, letting him lie on the deck. - -They stood in a tight half-circle, silently studying the inert figure. -It was that of an extremely short man, about five feet, Crag judged, and -thin. A thinness without emaciation. His face was pale, haggard and, -like the Aztec crewmen's, covered with stubbly beard. He appeared in his -late thirties or early forties but Crag surmised he was much younger. -His chest rose and fell irregularly and his breathing was harsh. Crag -knelt and checked his pulse. It was shallow, fast. - -"I don't know." He got to his feet. "He may have internal injuries ... -or just a bad concussion." - -"To hell with him," spat Larkwell. - -Prochaska said, "He'll either live or die. In either case there's not -much we can do about it." His voice wasn't callous, just matter-of-fact. -Crag nodded agreement. The Chief turned his back. Crag was brooding over -the possible complications of having an enemy in their midst when his -nostrils caught a familiar whiff. He turned, startled. The Chief was -holding a pot of coffee. - -"I did smuggle one small helping," he confessed. - -Crag looked thoughtfully at the pot. "I should cite you for a -court-martial. However ..." He reached for the cup the Chief was -extending. - -They drank the coffee slowly, savoring each drop, while Larkwell -outlined their next step. It was one Crag had been worrying about. - -"As you know, the plans call for living in the Aztec until we can get a -sheltered airlock into operation," Larkwell explained. "To do that we -gotta lower this baby to the horizontal so I can loosen the afterburner -section and clear out the gunk. Then we can get the prime airlock -installed and working. That should give us ample quarters until we can -build the permanent lock--maybe in that rill we passed." - -"We got to rush that," Nagel cut in. "Right now we lose total cabin -pressure every time we stir out of this trap. We can't keep it up for -long." - -Crag nodded. Nagel was right. The airlock had to be the first order of -business. The plans called for just such a move and, accordingly, the -rocket had been designed with such a conversion in mind. Only it had -been planned as a short-term stopgap--one to be used only until a -below-surface airlock could be constructed. Now that Drone Able had been -lost-- - -"Golly, what'll we do with all the room?" Prochaska broke in humorously. -He flicked his eyes around the cabin. "Just imagine, we'll be able to -sleep stretched out instead of doubled up in a bucket seat." - -Larkwell took up the conversation and they listened while he outlined -the step-by-step procedure. It was his show and they gave him full -stage. He suggested they might be able to use one of Aztec's now useless -servo motors in the task. When he finished, Crag glanced down at the -Bandit crewman. Pale blue eyes stared back at him. Ice-blue, calm, yet -tinged with mockery. They exchanged a long look. - -"Feel better?" Crag finally asked, wondering if by any chance he spoke -English. - -"Yes, thank you." The voice held the barest suggestion of an accent. - -"We brought you to our ship ..." Crag stopped, wondering how to proceed. -After all the man was an enemy. A dangerous one at that. - -"So I see." The voice was laconic. "Why?" - -"We're human," snapped Crag brutally. The pale blue eyes regarded him -intently. - -"I'm Adam Crag, Commander," he added. The Bandit crewman tried to push -himself up on his elbow. His face blanched and he fell back. - -"I seem to be a trifle weak," he apologized. He looked at the circle of -faces before his eyes settled back on Crag. "My name is Richter. Otto -Richter." - -Prochaska said, "That's a German name." - -"I am German." - -"On an Iron Curtain rocket?" Nagel asked sarcastically. Richter gave the -oxygen man a long cool look. - -"That seems to be the case," he said finally. The group fell silent. It -was Crag's move. He hesitated. When he spoke his tone was decisive. - -"We're stuck with you. For the time being you may regard yourself as -confined. You will not be allowed any freedom ... until we decide what -to do with you." - -"I understand." - -"As soon as we modify the valves on your suit to fit our cylinders we're -going to move you outside." He instructed Nagel to get busy on the -valves, then turned to Larkwell. - -"Let's get along with lowering this baby." - - - - -CHAPTER 10 - - -"Gordon Nagel?" The professor turned the name over in his mind. "Yes, I -believe I recall him. Let's see, that would have been about...." He -paused, looking thoughtfully into space. - -The agent said, "Graduated in '55. One of your honor students." - -"Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten?" The Professor folded his hands -across his plump stomach and settled back in his chair. - -"I seem to recall him as sort of an intense, nervous type," he said at -last. "Sort of withdrawn but, as you mentioned, quite brilliant. Now -that I think of it--" - -He abruptly stopped speaking and looked at the agent with a startled -face. - -"You mean the man in the moon?" he blurted. - -"Yes, that's the one." - -"Ah, no wonder the name sounded so familiar. But, of course, we have so -many famous alumni. Ruthill University prides itself--" - -"Of course," the agent cut in. - -The professor gave him a hurt look before he began talking again. He -rambled at length. Every word he uttered was taped on the agent's pocket -recorder. - - * * * * * - -"Gordon Nagel, the young man on the moon flight? Why certainly I recall -young Nagel," the high school principal said. "A fine student ... one of -the best." He looked archly at the agent down a long thin nose. - -"Braxton High School is extremely proud of Gordon Nagel. Extremely -proud. If I say so myself he has set a mark for other young men to -strive for." - -"Of course," the agent agreed. - -"This is a case which well vindicates the stress we've put on the -physical and life sciences," the principal continued. "It is the -objective of Braxton High School to give every qualified student the -groundwork he needs for later academic success. That is, students with -sufficiently high I.Q.," he added. - -"Certainly, but about Gordon Nagel...?" - -"Yes, of course." The principal began to speak again. The agent relaxed, -listening. He didn't give a damn about the moon but he was extremely -interested in the thirty some years of Nagel's life preceding that trip. -Very much so. He left the school thinking that Nagel owed quite a lot to -Braxton High. At least the principal had inferred as much. - - * * * * * - -"Yes, I did go with Gordon for a while," Mrs. LeRoy Farwell said. "But -of course it was never serious. Just an occasional school dance or -something. He might be famous but, well, frankly he wasn't my type. He -was an awful drip." Her eyes brushed the agent's face meaningfully. - -"I like 'em live, if you know what I mean." - -"Certainly, Mrs. Farwell," the agent said gravely. "But about Nagel...?" - -There were many people representing three decades of contact with Gordon -Nagel. Some of them recalled him only fleetingly. Others rambled at -length. Odd little entries came to life to fit into the dossier. -Photographs and records were exhumed. Gordon Nagel ... Gordon Nagel.... - -The file on Gordon Nagel grew. - - * * * * * - -Colonel Michael Gotch didn't like the idea of an addition to the Aztec -crew. Didn't like it at all. He informed Crag that the rescue had been -entirely unnecessary. Unrealistic, was the word he had used. He was -extremely interested in the fact that Bandit housed an arsenal. He -suggested, in view of Drone Able's loss, they shouldn't overlook -Bandit's supplies. - -"Especially as you have another mouth to feed," he said blandly. - -Crag agreed. He didn't say so but he had already planned just such a -move. The Colonel immediately launched into a barrage of questions -concerning the crashed rocket. He seemed grieved when Crag couldn't -supply answers down to the last detail. - -"Look," Crag finally exploded, "give us time ... time. We just got here. -Remember?" - -"Yes ... yes, I know. But the information is vital," Gotch said firmly. -"I would appreciate it if you would try...." - -Crag cursed and snapped the communicator off. - -"What's wrong? The bird colonel heckling you?" - -"Hounding is the word," Crag corrected. He fixed the Chief with a -baleful eye and uttered an epithet with regard to the Colonel's -ancestry. Prochaska chuckled. - -Larkwell quickly demonstrated that he knew the Aztec inside and out far -better than did any of the others. Aside from several large cables -supplied expressly for the purpose of lowering the rocket, he obtained -the rest of the equipment needed from the ship. - -Under his direction two winches were set up about thirty yards from the -ship and a cable run to each to form a V-line. A second line ran from -each winch to a nearby shallow gully. Heavy weights--now useless parts -of the ship's engines--were fastened to these and buried. The lines were -intended to anchor the winches during the critical period of lowering -the rocket. Finally Larkwell ran a guide line from the Aztec's nose to a -third winch. This one was powered by an electric motor which was powered -by the ship's batteries. - -While Larkwell and Nagel prepared to lower the rocket Crag smoothed off -an area of the plain's surface and marked off a twenty-foot square. He -finished and looked at his handiwork with satisfaction. Richter's eyes -were filled with interest. - -"Using it to chart the frequency of meteorite falls," Crag explained. -"We'd like to get an idea of the hazard." - -"Plenty," Richter said succinctly. He started to add more and stopped. -Crag felt the urge to pump him but refrained. The least he became -involved the better, he thought. It didn't escape him that the German -seemed to have recovered to a remarkable extent. Well, that was -something else to remember. Richter injured was one thing. But Richter -recovered ... - -He snapped the thought off and turned toward the base of the rocket, -indicating that the German should follow. Larkwell was testing the -winches and checking the cables when they arrived. - -"About ready," he told Crag. - -"Then let her go." - -The construction boss nodded and barked a command to Prochaska and -Nagel, who were manning the restraining winches. When they acknowledged -they were ready he strode to the power winch. - -"Okay." His voice was a terse crack in the interphones. The Aztec -shuddered on its base, teetering, then its nose began to cant downward. -It moved slowly in an arc across the sky. - -"Take up," Larkwell barked into the mike. The guide lines tautened. - -"Okay." - -This time Prochaska and Nagel fed line through the winches more slowly. -The nose of the rocket had passed through sixty degrees of arc when its -tail began to inch backward, biting into the plain. - -"Hold up!" Larkwell circled the rocket and approached the tailfins from -one side. He looked up at the body of the ship, then back at the base. -Satisfied it would hold he ordered the winches started. The nose moved -slowly toward the ground, swaying slightly from side to side. In another -moment it lay on its belly on the plain. - -"Now the real work begins," Larkwell told Crag. "We gotta clean -everything out of that stovepipe and get the airlock rigged." His voice -was complaining but his face indicated the importance he attached to the -job. - -"How long do you figure it'll take?" - -Larkwell rubbed his faceplate thoughtfully. "About two days, with some -catnaps and some help." - -"Good." Crag looked thoughtfully at Richter. "Any reason you can't -help?" he asked sharply. - -"None at all," Richter answered solemnly. - -While Larkwell and Nagel labored in the tail section, Crag and -Prochaska rearranged the space cabin. The chemical commode was placed in -one corner and a nylon curtain rigged around it--their one concession to -civilization. Crag was conscious of Richter's eyes following -them--weighing, analyzing, speculating. He caught himself swiveling -around at odd times to check on him, but Richter seemed unconcerned. - -Electric power from the batteries was limited. For the most part they -would be living on space rations--food concentrates supplemented with -vitamin pills--and a square of chocolate daily per man. Later, when the -airlock was installed in the area now occupied by the afterburners and -machinery, they would be able to appreciably extend their living -quarters. Until then, Crag thought wryly, they would live like -sardines--with an enemy in their midst. An enemy and a saboteur, he -mentally corrected. Aside from that there was the constant danger from -meteorite falls. He shook his head despairingly. Life on the moon wasn't -all it could be. Not by a damn sight. - -Nagel was becoming perturbed over their oxygen consumption. He had set -up the small tanks containing algae in a nutrient solution, tending them -like a mother hen. In time, if the cultivation were successful, the -small algae farm would convert the carbon dioxide from their respiration -into oxygen. At the present time the carbon dioxide was being absorbed -by chemical means. As things stood, it was necessary for the entire crew -to don spacesuits every time one of them left the cabin. Each time the -cabin air was lost in the vacuum of the moon. Crag pointed out there was -no alternative until the airlock was completed, a fact which didn't keep -Nagel from complaining. - - * * * * * - -Otto Richter recovered fast. Before another day had passed--the Aztec -continued to operate by earth clock--he seemed to have completely -recovered. It was evident that concussion and shock had been the extent -of his injuries. Crag didn't know whether to be sorry or glad, he -didn't, in fact, know what to do with the man. He gave firm orders that -Richter was never to be left alone--not for a moment. - -He told him: "You will not be allowed in the area of any of the -electronic equipment. First time you do ..." He looked meaningfully at -him. - -"I understand," the German said. Thereafter, except for occasional trips -to the commode, or to help with work, he kept to the corner of the space -cabin allotted him. - -Larkwell came up for the evening meal wearing a grim look. He extended -his hand toward Crag, holding a jagged chunk of rock nearly the size of -a baseball. - -Crag took the hunk and hefted it thoughtfully. "Meteorite?" The others -clustered around. - -"Yeah. I saw a hole in that cleared off section and reached down. There -she was, big as life." - -"If that had hit this pipe we'd be dead ducks," Prochaska observed. - -"But it didn't hit," Crag corrected, trying to allay any gathering -nervousness. "It just means that we're going to have to get going on the -rill airlock as soon as possible." - -"How will loss of Able affect that?" Nagel asked curiously. - -"Only in the matter of size," Crag explained. "The possible loss of a -drone was taken into account. The plastiblocks are constructed to make -any size shelter possible. We'll start immediately when Baker lands." He -looked thoughtfully at the men. "Let's not borrow any trouble." - -"Yeah, there's plenty without borrowing any more," Prochaska agreed. He -smiled cheerfully. "I vote we all stop worrying and eat." - -Another complication arose. Drone Baker would be in orbit the following -morning. Prochaska had to be prepared to bring it down. He was busy -moving his equipment into one compact corner opposite the commode. He -rigged a curtain around it, partly for privacy but mainly to mark off a -definite area prohibited to Richter. - -The communicator was becoming another problem that harried Crag. A -government geologist wanted a complete description of Arzachel's rock -structure. A space medicine doctor had a lot of questions about the -working of the oxygen-carbon dioxide exchange system. Someone else--Crag -was never quite sure who--wanted an exact description of how the Aztec -had handled during letdown. In the end he got on the communicator and -curtly asked for Gotch. - -"Keep these people off our backs until we land Drone Baker," he told -him. "It's not headquarters for some damned quiz program." - -"You're big news," Gotch placated. "What you tell us will help with -future rockets." - -"Like a mineral description of the terrain?" - -"Even that. But cheer up, Commander. The worst is yet to come." He broke -off before Crag could snap a reply. Prochaska grinned at his -discomfiture. - -"That's what comes of being famous," he said. "We're wheels." - -"A wheel on the moon." Crag looked questioningly at him. "Is that good?" - -"Damned if I know. I haven't been here long enough." - - * * * * * - -Crag was surprised to see how rapidly work in the tail section was -progressing. Larkwell had loosened the giant engines and fuel tanks and -pulled them from the ship with power from one of the rocket's servo -motors. They lay on the dusty floor of the plain, incongruous in their -new setting. He thought it a harbinger of things to come. A rocket -garage on the floor of barren Arzachel. Four men attempting to build an -empire from the hull of a space ship. In time it would be replaced by an -airlock in a rill ... a military base ... a domed city. Pickering Field -would become a transportation center, perhaps the hub of the Solar -System's transportation empire. First single freighters, then ore -trains, would travel the highways of space between earth mother and her -long separated child. He sighed. The ore trains were a long way in the -future. - -Larkwell crawled out from the cavern he had hollowed in the hull and -stretched. "Time for chow," he grunted. His voice over the interphones -sounded tired. Nagel followed him looking morose. He didn't acknowledge -Crag's presence. - -At evening by earth clock they ate their scant fare. They were unusually -silent. The Chief seemed weary from his long vigil on the scope. -Larkwell's face was sweaty, smudged with grease. He ate quickly, with -the air of a man preoccupied with weighty problems. Nagel was clearly -bushed. Larkwell's fast pace had been too much for him. He wore a cross, -irritable expression and avoided all conversation. Richter sat alone, -seemingly unconcerned that he was a virtual prisoner, confined to one -small corner of the cabin barely large enough to provide sleeping space. -Crag had no feelings where he was concerned, neither resentment nor -sympathy. The German was just a happenstance, a castaway in the war for -Arzachel. Or, more probable, he thought, the war for the moon. - -After chow the men took turns shaving with the single razor. It had been -supplied only because of the need to keep the oxygen ports in the -helmets free and to keep the lip mikes clear. - -"Pure luxury," Prochaska said when his turn came. "Nothing's too good -for the spaceman." - -"Amen," Crag agreed. "I hope the next crew is going to get a bar of -soap." - -"For their sake I hope they pick something better than this crummy -planet," Larkwell grunted. - - * * * * * - -Drone Baker had entered the moon's gravisphere at the precise time -spelled out by the earth computers. Its speed had dropped to a mere two -hundred miles per hour. It began to accelerate, pulled by the moon, -moving in a vast trajectory calculated to put it into a closing orbit -around the barren satellite. Prochaska picked it up and followed it on -the scope. Telemeter control from Alpine fired the first braking -rockets. The blast countered the moon's pull. Drone Baker was still a -speck on the scope--a solitary traveler rushing toward them through the -void. - -"Seems incredible it took us that long," Crag mused, studying the -instrument panel. He reached over and activated the analog. Back on -earth saucers with faces lifted to the skies were tracking the drone's -flight. Their information was channeled into computer batteries, -integrated, analyzed, and sent back into space. The wave train ended in -a gridded scope--the analog Crag was viewing. - -"Seemed a damned lot shorter when we were up there," he speculated -aloud. - -"That's one experience that really telescopes time," the Chief agreed. -"I'd hate to have to sweat it out again." - -"When do we take over?" - -Prochaska glanced at the master chrono. "Not till 0810, give or take a -few minutes. It depends on the final computations from Alpine." - -"Better catch some sleep," Crag suggested. "It's going to be touchy once -we get hold of it." - -"We'll be damn lucky if we get it down in Arzachel." - -"We'd better." Crag grinned. "Muff this and we might as well take out -lunar citizenship." - -"No thanks. Not interested." - -"What's the matter, Max, no pioneer spirit?" - -"Go to hell," Prochaska answered amiably. - -"Now, Mr. Prochaska, that's no way to speak to your commanding officer," -Crag reproved with mock severity. - -"Okay. Go to hell, Sir," he joked. - -Richter was a problem. Someone had to be awake at all times. Crag -decided to break the crew into watches, and laid out a tentative -schedule. He would take the first watch, Larkwell would relieve him at -midnight, and Nagel would take over at 0300. That way Prochaska would -get a full night's sleep. He would need steady nerves come morning. He -outlined the schedule to the crew. Neither Larkwell nor Nagel appeared -enthusiastic over the prospect of initiating a watch regime, but neither -protested openly. - -When the others were asleep, Crag cut off the light to preserve battery -power. He studied the lunar landscape out the port, thinking it must be -the bleakest spot in the universe. He twisted his head and looked -starward. The sky was a grab bag of suns. Off to one side giant Orion -looked across the gulf of space at Taurus and the Pleiades, the seven -daughters of Atlas. - - - - -CHAPTER 11 - - -"Commander!" Crag came to with a start Prochaska was leaning over him. -Urgency was written across his face. - -"Come quick!" The Chief stepped back and motioned with his head toward -the instrument corner. Crag sprang to his feet with a sense of alarm. -Richter and Larkwell were still asleep. He glanced at the master chrono, -0610, and followed him into the electronics corner. Nagel was standing -by the scope, a frightened look on his face. - -"What's up?" - -"Nagel woke me at six. I came in to get ready for Drone Baker ...." - -"Get to the point," Crag snapped irritably. - -"Sabotage." He indicated under the panel. "All the wiring under the main -console's been slashed." - -Crag felt a sense of dread. "How long will it take to make repairs?" - -"I don't know--don't know the full extent of the damage." - -"Find out," Crag barked. "How about the communicator?" - -"Haven't tried it," Prochaska admitted. "I woke you up as soon as I -found what had happened." He reached over and turned a knob. After a few -seconds a hum came from the console. "Works," he said. - -"See how quickly you can make repairs," Crag ordered. "We've got to hook -onto the drone pretty quick." - -He swung impatiently toward Nagel. "Was anyone up during your watch? Did -anyone go to the commode?" - -Nagel said defensively: "No, and I was awake all the time." Too -defensive, Crag thought. But no one had stirred during his watch. -Therefore, the sabotage had occurred between midnight and the time Nagel -wakened Prochaska. But, wait ... Prochaska could have done the sabotage -in the few moments he was at the console after Nagel woke him. It would -have taken just one quick slash--the work of seconds. That left him in -the same spot he'd been in with regard to the time bomb. - -He grated harshly at Nagel: "Wake Larkwell and get on with the airlock. -And don't chatter about what's happened," he added. - -"I won't," Nagel promised nervously. He retreated as if glad to be rid -of Crag's scrutiny. - -"A lousy mess," Prochaska grunted. - -Crag didn't answer. - -"If we don't solve this, we're going to wind up dead," he pursued. - -Crag turned and faced him. "It could be anybody. You ... me." - -"Yeah, I know." The Chief's face got a hard tight look. "Only it -isn't ... it isn't me." - -"I don't know that," Crag countered. - -Prochaska said bitterly: "You'd better find out." - -"I will," Crag said shortly. He got on the communicator. It took several -minutes to raise Alpine. He wasn't surprised when Gotch answered, and -briefly related what had happened. - -"Is there any possibility of telemetering her all the way in?" He knew -there wasn't, but he asked anyway. - -"Impossible." - -"Okay, well try and make it from here." - -The Colonel added a few comments. They were colorful but definitely not -complimentary. He got the distinct impression the Colonel wasn't pleased -with events on the moon. When his cold voice faded from the -communicator, Crag tried the analog. The grid scope came to life but it -was blank. Of course, he thought, Drone Baker was cut off from earth by -the body of the moon. It could not be simulated on the analog until it -came from behind the blind side where the earth saucers could track its -flight. - -"Morning," Larkwell said, sticking his head around the curtain. "How -about climbing into your suits so we can get out of this can?" Crag -studied his face. It seemed void of any guile. Nagel stood nervously -behind him. - -"Okay," Crag said shortly. He hated to have Prochaska lose the precious -moments. They hurriedly donned their suits and Nagel decompressed the -cabin, Larkwell opened the hatch and they left. Crag closed it after -them and released fresh oxygen into the cabin. Richter took off his suit -and returned to his corner. His eyes were bright with interest. He -knows, Crag thought. - -At 0630 the communicator came to life. A voice at the other end gave -Drone Baker's position and velocity as if nothing had happened. The -drone, on the far side of the moon, was decelerating, dropping as servo -mechanisms operating on timers activated its blasters. It was guided -solely by the radio controlled servos, following a flight path -previously determined by banks of computers. Everything was in apple-pie -order, except for the snafu in Arzachel, Crag thought bitterly. - -Prochaska worked silently, swiftly. Crag watched with a helpless -feeling. There wasn't room for both of them to work at one time. The -Chief's head and arms literally filled the opening of the sabotaged -console. Once he snapped for more light and Crag beamed a torch over his -shoulder, fretting from the inaction. - -Sounds came through the rear bulkhead where Larkwell and Nagel were -working in the tail section. Strange, Crag thought, to all appearances -each crew member was a dedicated man. But one was a traitor. Which one? -That's what he had to find out. Richter would have been the logical -suspect were it not for the episode of the time bomb. No, it hadn't been -the German. It was either the competent Prochaska, the sullen Nagel or -the somehow cheerful but inscrutable Larkwell. But there should be a -clue. If only he knew what to look for. Well, he'd find it. When he -did ... He clenched his fists savagely. - -At 0715 Alpine simulated the drone on the analog. Fifteen minutes later -Prochaska pulled his head from the console and asked Crag to try the -scope. It worked. - -"Now if I can get those damn wires that control the steering and braking -rockets ..." He dived back into the console. Crag looked at the chrono, -then swung his eyes to the instruments. Drone Baker was coming in fast. -The minutes ticked off. The communicator came to life with more data. -Baker was approaching Ptolemaeus on its final leg. The voice cut off and -Gotch came on. - -"We're ready to transfer control." - -Prochaska shook his head negatively without looking up. - -"What's the maximum deadline?" Crag asked. - -"0812, exactly three minutes, ten seconds," Gotch rasped. Prochaska -moved his head to indicate maybe. The communicator was silent. Crag -watched the master chrono. - -At 0812 Prochaska was still buried in the panel. Crag's dismay -grew--dismay and a sense of guilt over the sabotage. Gotch had warned -him against the possibility innumerable times. Now it had happened. The -loss of Drone Able had been a bad blow; the loss of Baker could be -fatal, not only to the success of their mission but to their survival. - -Survival meant an airlock and the ability to live on their scant -supplies until Arzachel was equipped to handle incoming rockets on a -better-than-chance basis. Well, one thing at a time, he thought. He -suppressed the worry nagging at his mind. Just now it was Drone Baker's -turn at bat. - -At 0813 Prochaska sprang to his feet and nodded. Crag barked an okay -into the communicator while the Chief got his bearings on the -instruments. Crag hoped the lost minute wouldn't be fatal. By 0814 -Prochaska had the drone under control. It was 90,000 feet over Alphons -traveling at slightly better than a thousand miles per hour. He hit the -braking rockets hard. - -"We're not going to make it," he gritted. He squinted his eyes. His face -was set, grim. - -"Hold it with full braking power." - -"Not sufficient fuel allowance." - -"Then crash it as close as possible." - -Prochaska nodded and moved a control full over. The drone's braking -rockets were blasting continuously. Crag studied the instruments. It was -going to be close. By the instrument data they couldn't make it. Drone -Baker seemed doomed. It was too high, moving too fast despite the lavish -waste of braking power. His hand clenched the back of Prochaska's seat. -He couldn't tear his eyes from the scope. Baker thundered down. - -Suddenly the drone was on them. It cleared the north rim of Arzachel at -3,000 feet. Too high, Crag half-whispered. The difference lay in the -lost minute. Prochaska pushed and held the controls. Crag pictured the -rocket, bucking, vibrating, torn by the conflict of energies within its -fragile body. - -Prochaska fingered the steering rockets and pushed the drone's nose -upward. Crag saw it through the port. It rushed through space in a -skidding fashion before it began to move upward from the face of the -moon. Prochaska hit the braking jets with full power. Crag craned his -head to follow its flight. Out of one corner of his eye he saw Nagel and -Larkwell on the plain, their helmeted heads turned skyward. He scrunched -his face hard against the port and caught the drone at the top of its -climb. - -It was a slender needle with light glinting on its tail--the Sword of -Damocles hanging above their heads. It hung ... suspended in space ... -then began backing down, dropping stern first with flame and white vapor -pouring from its tail jets. It came fast. Occasional spurts from radial -jets around its nose kept its body perpendicular to the plain. Vapor -from the trail fluffed out hiding the body of the rocket. The flame -licked out while the rocket was still over a hundred feet in the air. - -Prochaska cursed softly. The rocket seemed riveted to the black sky for -a fraction of a second before it began to fall. Faster ... faster. It -smashed into the lunar surface, lost from sight. - -"Exit Baker," Prochaska said woodenly. Quietly Crag got on the -communicator and reported to Gotch. There was a brief silence when he -had finished. - -Finally Gotch said, "Drone Charlie will be launched on schedule. We'll -have to reassess our logistics, though. Maybe we'd better knock off the -idea of the airlock-in-the-gully idea and shoot along extra oxygen and -supplies instead. How does the meteorite problem look?" - -"Lousy," said Crag irritably. "We've had a scary near miss. I wouldn't -bet on being able to survive too long in the open. Again there was a -silence. - -"You'll have to," Gotch said slowly, "unless you can salvage Baker's -cargo." - -"We'll check that." - -"You might investigate the possibility of covering the Aztec with ash." - -"Sure ... sure," Crag broke in. "Good idea. I'll have the boys break out -the road grader immediately." - -"Don't be facetious," Gotch reprimanded. "We have a problem to work -out." - -"You're telling me!" - -"In the meantime, try and clean up that other situation." - -By "other situation" Crag knew he was referring to the sabotage. Sure, -be an engineer, intelligence agent, spaceman and superman, all rolled -into one. He wrinkled his face bitterly. Still he had to admire the -Colonel's tenacity. He was a man determined to conquer the moon. - -"Will do," Crag said finally. "In the meantime we'll look Baker over. -There might be some salvage." - -"Do that," the Colonel said crisply. He cut off. - - - - -CHAPTER 12 - - -"Max Prochaska was a real well-liked boy," Mrs. Arthur Bingham said -firmly, "friendly with everyone in town. Of course, Vista was just a -small place then," she added reminiscently. "Not like now, especially -since the helicopter factory moved in. I do declare, a soul wouldn't -recognize the place any longer, with all the housing tracts and the new -supermarket--" - -"Certainly," the agent interjected, "but about Max Prochaska." - -"Yes, of course." Mrs. Bingham bit her lip reflectively. "My husband -always said Max would go places. I wish he could have lived to see it." -For just a moment her eyes brimmed wetly, then she blew her nose, wiping -them in the process. The agent waited until she had composed herself. - -"Little Max--I always think of him as Little Max," she explained--"was -smart and pleasant, real well liked at school. And he _always_ attended -church." She stressed the word always. - -"Just think, now they say he's on the moon." Her eyes fixed the agent -with interest "You'd think he'd get dizzy." - - * * * * * - -The agent almost enjoyed tracing Max Prochaska's history, it was a neat, -wrapped-up job, one that moved through a regular sequence. Teacher ... -minister ... family doctor ... druggist ... scoutmaster ... athletic -director--all the ties a small-town boy makes and retains. Everything -was clear-cut, compact. Records, deeds, acquaintances--all in one handy -package. The memory of a man who grew up in a small town persisted, -borne in the minds of people whose worlds were small. The Vista paper -had obligingly carried Prochaska's biography, right on the front page, -under the headline: VISTAN LANDS ON MOON. The leading local drugstore -was featuring a Prochaska sundae and the Mayor of the town had -proclaimed MAX PROCHASKA week. - -Clearly, Vista was proud of its native son, but not nearly as proud as -the elderly couple who still tended a chicken ranch on the outskirts of -town. - -"Max is a good boy," Mrs. Prochaska said simply. Her husband beamed -agreement. - -On the surface, Prochaska's record seemed clean--a good student, -well-liked, the usual array of girls, and nothing much in the way of -peccadillos you could hang a hat on. The agent's last view of the town -was a sign at the city limits: VISTA--THE HOME OF MAX PROCHASKA. - - * * * * * - -Drone Baker looked a complete loss. It had smashed tail down onto the -ash covered plain about four miles to the southeast of the Aztec, off -the eastern lip of the curved crescent Prochaska had dubbed "Backbone -Ridge." - -Crag calculated that the positions of Bandit, the drone and their own -rocket roughly formed an equilateral triangle on the floor of the -crater. The lower section of the rocket was crushed, its hull split -lengthwise. - -Crag and Larkwell studied the scene from a small knoll. The drone lay in -a comparatively level area about thirty feet from the edge of a deep -fissure, careened at a steep angle from the vertical. Only its tail -imbedded into the ground kept it from toppling. - -"Might as well have a closer look," Larkwell said finally. Crag nodded -and beckoned Richter, who was waiting at the bottom of the knoll. Since -the sabotage incident he had split the crew into two sections which -varied according to task. Richter was used by either section as needed. -It wasn't an arrangement that Crag liked but he didn't feel it wise, or -safe, to allow anyone the privilege of privacy. - -Richter circled the base of the knoll and met them. When they reached -the rocket, Larkwell circled it several times, studying it from all -angles. - -"We might come out pretty well," he said finally. His voice carried a -dubious note. He lifted his head and contemplated the rocket again. -"Maybe some of the cargo rode through." - -"We hope," Crag said. - -"I wouldn't bank too much on it." - -"Think we might get inside?" - -Larkwell said decisively: "Not this boy. Not until we pull the nose -down. This baby's ready to topple." - -They were discussing their next move when Prochaska came in on the -interphone: "Alpine wants the dope on Baker." - -Damn Alpine, Crag thought moodily. He contemplated the rocket. "Tell 'em -it's still here." All at once he felt depressed. Strain, he told -himself. Since blast-off his life had been a succession of climaxes, -each a little rougher than the one preceding. Not that he was alone in -his reactions. His mind switched to Nagel. The oxygen man had become -sullen, irritable, almost completely withdrawn from the group. He was, -Crag thought, a lonely, miserable man. Even Larkwell was beginning to -show the affects of their struggle to survive. His normal easygoing -manner was broken by periods of surliness. Only Prochaska had managed to -maintain his calm approach to life, but the effects were telling -physically. His face was a mask of parchment drawn tightly over bone, -accentuating his tired hollow eyes. - -But Richter seemed to be thriving. Why not? He was a doomed man given a -fresh reprieve on life, with no responsibilities to burden his -existence. He was on a gravy train for the time being. Still, Richter -was in an unenviable spot. Nagel was openly hostile toward him. His -demeanor and looks were calculated to tell the German he was an -undesirable intruder. Larkwell's attitude was one of avoidance. He -simply acted as if the German were not on the moon. When in the course -of work it became necessary to give Richter an order, he did it with a -short surly bark. Prochaska concealed whatever feeling he had toward the -German. No, he thought, Richter's lot wasn't easy. - -He tried to push the mood aside. It wouldn't push. He checked his -oxygen, and decided to swing over to Bandit before returning. The -sooner they got started on the salvage job, the better. He communicated -his plan to the others. - -Larkwell protested, "Getting ready to open this baby's more important. -We'll never get started on the airlock fooling around this god forsaken -desert." - -"Well get to that, too," Crag promised, fighting to keep his temper -under control. "By going from here we'll save a couple of miles over -having to make a special trip." - -"Suit yourself," the construction boss said truculently. - -Crag nodded stiffly and started toward the enemy rocket, now lost to -view behind intervening rock formations. By unspoken agreement Larkwell -fell in at the rear, leaving Richter sandwiched between them. The German -lived constantly under the scrutiny of one or another of the crew. Crag -intended to keep it that way. - -The trip was more difficult than he had anticipated. Twice they were -forced to detour around deep fissures. Before they had gone very far -Crag's radiation counter came to life. He made a note of the spot -thinking that later they would map the boundaries of the radioactive -area. Once or twice he checked his course with Prochaska. His oxygen -meter told him they would have to hurry when they topped a low knoll of -glazed rock and came upon the ship. - -He stopped and turned, watching Richter. If he had expected any show of -emotion he was disappointed. His face was impassive. It gave Crag the -feeling that he wasn't really seeing the rocket--that he was looking far -beyond, into nothingness. His eyes behind the face plate were vacuous -pools. - -"We didn't have time to bury your companions," Crag said -matter-of-factly. He indicated the rocket with a motion of his head and -his voice turned cruel: - -"They're still in there." - -Richter's expression remained unchanged. "It doesn't make much -difference here," he said finally. He turned and faced Crag. - -"One thing you should understand. They," he swept his arm toward Bandit, -"were the military." - -"And you?" - -Richter said stiffly: "I am a scientist." - -"Who destroyed our drone thinking it was us." They faced each other -across the bleak lunar desert. The German's eyes had become blue -fires--azure coals leaping into flame. - -"It makes no difference what you think," he said after a moment. "My -conscience is clear." - -"Nuts." Larkwell spat the word with disgust. Richter shrugged and turned -back toward the rocket. Crag looked at him with varying emotions. One -thing was sure, he thought. Richter was a cool customer. He had seen new -depths in his blue eyes when they had faced each other. They were hard -eyes, ablaze with ice ... the eyes of a fanatic--or a saint. He pushed -the thought aside. - -Prochaska came in on the phones to inquire about their oxygen. Crag -checked, chagrined to find that it was too low to spend more than a few -minutes at the rocket. He opened the arms locker, thinking he would have -to get rid of the weapons. They could be dangerous in the wrong hands. -He had been unable to carry them back the first trip. Then he had -regarded them as something totally useless on the moon. Now he wasn't so -sure. - -He hurriedly studied the space cabin, seeking the information Gotch had -requested. The floor and walls were heavily padded with some foam -material--standard procedure to absorb vibration and attenuate noise. -Aside from the controls, there were no projecting metal surfaces or hard -corners ... the view ports were larger ... acceleration pads smaller, -thicker. All in all, the cabins of the two rockets were quite similar. -He was examining the contents of the supply cabinets when Larkwell -reminded him of their diminishing oxygen supply. They hurriedly -plundered Bandit of six oxygen cylinders and started back across -Arzachel's desolate plain. - - * * * * * - -Crag arbitrarily broke the lunar day into twenty-four hour periods to -correspond with earth time. Twelve hours were considered as "day," the -remaining time as "night." He set up regular communication periods in -order to schedule their activities. Under the arrangement Alpine came in -promptly at exactly a half-hour before breakfast--0500 by earth -clock--and again following the evening meal. Prochaska monitored the -channel during the workday to cover possible urgent messages. The -schedule allowed a twelve-hour work period during the day and a -three-hour work period following the evening meal, from 7:00 to 10:00. -The communication periods quickly deteriorated into routine sessions--a -good omen to Crag--but Gotch kept his finger in the pie. Crag had the -satisfaction of knowing he was available around the clock. Consequently, -when the communicator came to life midway through the regular -twelve-hour work period, he knew something was brewing--something he -wasn't going to like. So did Prochaska. His voice, when he called Crag -to the communicator, spelled trouble. - -Crag used the ear microphones for privacy and acknowledged the call with -a distinct feeling of unease. As he had expected, the caller was Gotch. - -"Drone Charlie was launched at 0600," he told Crag. "We'll feed you the -data on the regular channels." There was a brief silence. "This one's -got to make it," he added significantly. - -Crag said stonily: "We'll do our best." - -"I know you will, Commander. I have absolutely no fear on that score. -How's everything going?" The twangy voice across the abyss of space took -on a solicitous tone that set his nerves on edge. Something's -wrong--something bad, he thought. The Colonel sounded like a doctor -asking a dying patient how he felt. - -"Okay, everything seems in hand. We've got the ship in good shape and -Larkwell thinks we might fare pretty well with the drone. It might be in -better shape than we first thought." - -"Good, good, glad to hear it. We need a silver lining once in a while, -eh?" - -"Yeah, but I'm fairly certain you didn't call just to cheer me up," Crag -said dryly. "What's on your mind?" The silence came again, a little -longer this time. - - - - -CHAPTER 13 - - -"You're in trouble." Gotch spoke like a man carefully choosing his -words. "Intelligence informs us that another rocket's been fired from -east of the Caspian. BuNav's got a track on it." - -Crag waited. - -"There are two possibilities," Gotch continued. "The first and most -logical assumption is that it's manned. We surmise that from the fact -that their first manned rocket was successful--that is, as far as -reaching the moon is concerned. The assumption is further borne out by -its trajectory and rate of acceleration." His voice fell off. - -"And the second possibility?" Crag prompted. - -"Warhead," Gotch said succinctly. "Intelligence informs us that the -enemy is prepared to blow Arzachel off the face of the moon if they fail -to take it over. And they have failed--so far." Crag tossed the idea -around in his mind. - -He said fretfully, "I doubt if they could put a warhead down on -Arzachel. That takes some doing. Hell, it's tough enough to monitor one -in from here, let alone smack from earth." - -"I think you're right, but they can try." Gotch's voice became brisk. -"Here's the dope as we see it. We think the rocket contains a landing -party for the purpose of establishing a moon base. In Arzachel, -naturally, because that's where the lode is." - -"More to the point, you expect an attack on Pickering Base," Crag -interjected. - -"Well, yes, I think that is a reasonable assumption...." - -Crag weighed the information. Gotch was probably right. A nuclear -explosion on the moon would be detected on earth. That was the dangerous -course--the shot that could usher in World War III and perhaps a new -cave era. - -Attack by a landing party seemed more logical. They batted ideas back -and forth. The Colonel suggested that just before the landing phase of -Red Dog--the code name assigned the new rocket--Crag post armed guards -at some point covering the Aztec. - -"Might as well get some use out of Bandit's automatic weapons," Gotch -dryly concluded. - -Crag disagreed. He didn't think it likely that any attack would take the -form of a simple armed assault. "That would give us time to get off a -message," he argued. "They can't afford that." - -Gotch pointed out that neither could they launch a missile while still -in space. "A homing weapon couldn't differentiate between Aztec, Baker -and Bandit," he said. - -"But they'd still have to have some sure fire quick-kill method," Crag -insisted. - -"You may be right. Have you a better plan?" - -Crag did, and outlined it in some detail. Gotch listened without comment -until he had finished. - -"Could work," he said finally. "However, it's going to shoot your -schedule, even if you could do it." - -"Why can't we?" - -"You're not supermen, Commander," he said tersely. "The psychiatrists -here inform us that your crew--as individuals--should be near the -breaking point. We know the cumulative strain. To be truthful with you, -we've been getting gray hair over that prospect." - -"Nuts to the psychiatrists," Crag declared with a certainty he didn't -feel. "Men don't break when their survival depends on their sanity." - -"No?" The single word came across the void, soft and low. - -"We can do it," Crag persisted. - -"All right, I agree with the plan. I think you're wrong but you're the -Commander in the field." His voice was flat. "Good luck." He cut off -abruptly. - -Crag looked at the silent panel for a moment. Another problem, another -solution required. Maybe Gotch was right. Maybe they'd all wind up as -candidates for the laughing academy--if they lived long enough. The -thought didn't cheer him. Well, he'd better get moving. There was a lot -to be done. He looked up and saw the question in Prochaska's eyes. Might -as well tell him, he thought. - -He repeated the information Gotch had given, together with his plan. -Prochaska listened quietly, nodding from time to time. When he finished, -they discussed the pros and cons of Crag's proposed course of action. -Prochaska thought it would work. In the end they decided to pursue the -plan without telling the others the full story. It might be the breaking -point, especially for Nagel, and they would be needing a good oxygen man -in the coming days. Crag got on the interphone and called Larkwell, who -was working in the tail section with the others. - -"Judging from what you've seen of Bandit, how long would it take to make -it livable as crew quarters?" - -"Why?" he asked querulously. - -"I haven't time to go into that now," Crag said evenly. "Just give me -your best estimate." - -"You can't make it livable. It's hot." - -"Not that hot. You've just got the radiation creeps. Let's have the -estimate." - -Larkwell considered a moment. "There's quite a weld job on the hull, -assuming we could get the necessary patch metal from Bandit. We'd have -to haul one helluva lot of gear across that damned desert--" - -"How long?" Crag cut in. - -"Well, three days, at least. But that's a minimum figure." - -"That's the figure you'll have to meet," Crag promised grimly. "Start -now. Use Nagel and Richter. Load up the gear you'll need and get in a -trip before chow." - -"Now?" Larkwell's voice was incredulous. "What about winding up this job -first? The airlock is damned important." - -"Drop it," Crag said briefly. There was silence at the other end of the -interphone. - -"Okay," the construction boss grumbled finally. - -Crag suggested that Prochaska make the first trip with them to look over -Bandit's electronic gear. He would need to know what repairs and -modifications would be necessary to make it usable. The Chief was -delighted. It would mark the first time he'd been out of the space cabin -since the day of their landing. - - * * * * * - -Crag watched them leave through the port. It was impossible to tell the -crew members apart in their bulky garments. The extra oxygen and the -tools Larkwell had selected gave them an odd shambling gait, despite the -low gravity. They plodded in single file, winding slowly across the -plain. The thought struck him that they resembled grotesque life forms -from some alien planet. For just a moment he felt sorry, and a trifle -guilty, over assigning Nagel to the trip. The oxygen man was already in -a state of perpetual fatigue. Still, he couldn't allow anyone the luxury -of rest. Work was in the cards--grueling, slavish toil if they were to -survive. - -It struck Crag that this was a moment of great risk. Of the four figures -plodding toward Bandit, one was an enemy ... one a saboteur. Yet, what -could either accomplish by striking now? Nothing! _Not while I live_, he -thought. Strangely enough, Richter bothered him more than the saboteur. -There was a quality about the man he couldn't decipher, an armor he -couldn't penetrate. It occurred to him that, outwardly at least, Richter -was much like Prochaska--quiet, calm, steady. He performed the tasks -assigned him without question ... evinced no hostility, no resentment. -He was seemingly oblivious to Nagel's barbs and Larkwell's occasional -surly rebuffs. On the face of the record he was an asset--a work horse -who performed far more labor than Nagel. - -He decided he couldn't write the German off as a factor to be -continually weighed--weighed and watched. He was no ordinary man. Of -that he was sure. Richter's presence on the enemy's first moon rocket -was ample testimony of his stature. What were his thoughts? His plans? -What fires burned behind his placid countenance? Crag wished he knew. -One thing was certain. He could never lower his guard. Not for a second. - -He sighed and turned away from the viewport. A lot of data had piled up. -He'd give Alpine a little work to do to get Gotch off his neck. He -reached for the communicator thinking of Ann. Probably got someone else -lined up by now, he thought sourly. - - * * * * * - -Work on Bandit progressed slowly. Nagel dragged through each successive -work shift on the verge of exhaustion. Crag expected him to collapse -momentarily. His disintegration took him further and further from the -group. He ate silently, with eyes averted. He didn't protest the -arduous hours, but the amount of work he performed was negligible. -Larkwell maintained his stamina but had become more quiet in the -process. He seldom smiled ... never joked. Occasionally he was truculent -or derisive, referring to Bandit as the "Commander's hot box." - -Richter remained impersonal and aloof, but performed his assigned tasks -without apparent resentment. Crag noticed that he stayed as far from -Larkwell as possible, perhaps fearing violence from the burly -construction boss. Prochaska, alone, maintained a cheerful exterior--for -which Crag was thankful. - -He was watching them now--the evening of the last day of Larkwell's -three-day estimate--returning from the Bandit. The four figures were -strung out over half a mile. He regarded that as a bad omen. They no -longer worked as a crew, but as separate individuals, each in his -separate world, with exception of Prochaska. He turned away from the -port with the familiar feeling that time was running out, and mentally -reviewed what remained to be done. - -Making Bandit habitable was a must. There still remained the arduous -task of transferring their belongings and gear to Bandit. Drone Baker -had to be toppled and her cargo salvaged. Then there was Drone Charlie, -at present just a minute speck somewhere in the great void between earth -and her moon; but in somewhat less than forty-eight hours it would -represent tons of metal hurtling over the rim of Arzachel. This time -they couldn't fumble the ball. The building of the airlock in the rill -loomed in the immediate future--an oppressive shadow that caused him no -end of worry. There were other problems, too--like the item of Red -Dog ... the possible battle for control of the moon. - -Red Dog, in particular, had become the prime shadow darkening Arzachel's -ashy plains. He thought about the emotional deterioration which had laid -an iron grip over the expedition and wondered if they could hang on -through the rough days ahead. All in all, the task of colonizing the -moon appeared an extremely formidable one. He shook off his -apprehensions and began planning his next step. - - * * * * * - -That evening Crag knocked off the usual three hour work period following -evening chow. Nagel tumbled onto his pad and was asleep almost -instantly. His breathing was a harsh rasp. At Crag's suggestion -Prochaska took the watch until midnight. Crag stood guard the remainder -of the night to allow Nagel and Larkwell a full night's rest. - -While the others slept, Crag brooded at the port. Once he ran his hand -over his face, surprised at the hardness. All bone and no flesh, he -thought. He looked toward the north wall of Arzachel. - -In a few short hours Drone Charlie would come blazing over the rim, and -Red Dog snapping at its heels. - - - - -CHAPTER 14 - - -"Adam Crag was not a God-fearing man," the minister stated. His tone -implied that Crag had been just the opposite. "Not a bit like his -parents. The best family guidance in the world, yet he quit Sunday -school almost before he got started. I doubt that he's ever been to -church since." - -He looked archly at the agent. "Perhaps a godless world like the moon is -just retribution." - -A garage mechanic, a junk dealer and the proprietor of a tool shop had a -lot to say about Adam Crag. So did the owner of a small private -airport. They remembered him as a boy with an insatiable appetite for -tearing cars apart and converting them to what the junk dealer termed -"supersonic jalopies." - -Many people in El Cajon remembered Adam Crag. Strangely enough, his -teachers all the way back through grade school had little difficulty in -recalling his antics and attitudes. An elementary teacher explained it -by saying, "He was that kind of a boy." - -The family doctor had the most to say about Adam. He had long since -retired, a placid seventyish man who had elected to pass his last years -in the same house, in an older section of the town, in which he'd been -born. - -He sat swinging and talking, reminiscing about "the growing up of young -Adam," as he put it. The agent had made himself at home on the front -steps, listening. The doctor's comments were little short of being an -eulogy. - -He finished and was silent, tapping a black briar pipe against his hand -while he contemplated the agent with eyes which had long since ceased to -see. - -"One other thing," he added finally. "Adam was sure a heller with the -girls." - -The agent started to comment that Crag's dossier looked like the roll -call of a girl's dormitory but refrained. He didn't want to prejudice -the testimony. - - * * * * * - -Zero hour on the plains of Arzachel. The sun, an intolerably brilliant -ball pasted against the ebony sky, had started its drop toward the -horizon. The shadows on the plain were lengthening, harbingers of the -bitter two-weeks-long night to come. They crept out from the sheer wall -of the crater, reaching to engulf Pickering Base with icy fingers. - -Crag and Prochaska were alone, now, in the stripped cabin of the Aztec. -Nagel and Richter, under Larkwell's command, had departed for Bandit an -hour earlier with the last of their supplies. Crag disliked splitting -the crew but saw no alternative. He had to gamble. The element of -certainty, the ability to predict, the expectations of logic--all these -had vanished, swept away by the vagaries of chance. They could do only -so much. Beyond that their fate was pawn to the chaotic cross fires of -human elements pitted against the architecture of the cosmos. They were -puppets in the last lottery of probability. - -Prochaska broke the silence: "It's going to be close." - -Crag's eyes remained riveted to the instruments. Drone Charlie and Red -Dog were plunging through space separated by a scant half-hour's flight -time. Despite the drone's long launch lead, the gap between the two -rockets had been narrowed to a perilous point. Drone Charlie was -decelerating rapidly, her braking rockets flaring spasmodically to slow -her headlong flight. - -"We'd better get into our suits," Crag said finally. "We want to get out -of this baby the second Charlie lets down." - -Prochaska nodded. They left their suits unpressurized for the time being -to allow full mobility. In the moments ahead Prochaska, in particular, -couldn't afford to be hampered by the rigidity the suit possessed when -under pressure. - -They turned back to the control panel. Charlie was hurtling over -Alphons, dropping toward the bleak lunar landscape with incredible -speed. The mechanical voice from Alpine droned a stream of data. There -was a rapid exchange of information between Prochaska and Alpine. At its -conclusion he began taking over control of the drone. Crag watched -tensely. Prochaska's fingers, even though encased in the heavy suit -material, moved with certainty. In a little while he spoke without -looking up. - -"Got it," he said laconically. He studied the instruments, then his -fingers sought the buttons controlling Charlie's forward braking -rockets. - -Crag thought: _This is it._ Within scant moments the drone had covered -the sky over the tangled land lying between Alphons and Arzachel. It -swept over the brimming cliffs at a scant two thousand feet. He saw the -rocket through the forward ports. White vapor flared from its nose -rockets. The Chief had it under full deceleration. The cloud of vapor -covered its body. Prochaska moved the steering control and the rocket -slanted upward at ever-increasing angle of climb. Crag strained his neck -to keep it in sight. He thought its rate of climb was too rapid but -Prochaska seemed unperturbed. His calm approach to the problem of -landing the drone gave Crag renewed confidence. - -All at once, it seemed, Drone Charlie was hanging high in the sky, a -tapered needle miraculously suspended in the heavens. Then it began -dropping ... dropping. Bursts of smoke and white vapor shot from its -tail jets, becoming continuous as the rocket hurtled toward the plain. -The drone was lost to sight in its own clouds, but he charted its -progress by the vapor spurts at its lower edge. Prochaska was draining -the tail braking jets of every ounce of energy. Suddenly the rocket gave -the illusion of hanging in mid-air. The gap between it and the stark -terrain below seemed to have stopped closing. Crag half expected the -blasting stern tubes to begin pushing the drone back into the sky. -But ... no! It was moving down again, slowly. - -Prochaska moved another control. A servo-mechanism within the rocket -stirred to life and a spidery metal network moved out from its tail -housing. The drone dropped steadily, ever slower, and finally settled. -The shock-absorbing frame folded, was crushed. At the same instant -Prochaska silenced its rockets. It settled down, its tail tubes pushed -into the plain's powdery ash scarcely a mile from the Aztec. - -"Perfect." Prochaska sounded pleased with himself. His thin face broke -into a satisfied smile. - -"Nice going," Crag agreed. "Now let's get out of this trap." - -His eyes lingered for an instant on the analog. Red Dog had already -cleared Ptolemaeus. He snapped his face plate shut, clicked on the -interphone and turned the oxygen valve. His suit began to swell and grow -rigid against his body. When they were pressurized, he opened the hatch -and they clambered out onto the plain. He closed the hatch behind them -and struck off in the direction of Bandit with the Chief at his heels. - -They moved as rapidly as possible. Their feet in the heavy insulated -space boots kicked up small fountains of dust which dropped as quickly -as they rose. From time to time Crag looked back toward the brimming -cliffs. Prochaska plodded head down. His quickened breathing in the -interphones sounded harsh to Crag. Plainly the long hours of monitoring -the Aztec's instruments had made him soft. The microphone in his helmet -came to life. It was Larkwell. - -"Red Dog's cleared the rim," he told them. - -Crag glanced back. His eyes caught the wispish trail of white vapor high -above the cliffs before he saw the rocket itself. It was already in -vertical attitude, letting down amid a cloud of white vapor from its -stern braking rockets. - -"All hands disconnect their interphones," he commanded. "From here on -out we operate in silence." The Red Dog interphone system might or might -not be on the same band they used. He wasn't about to take that risk. - -"Okay," Larkwell acknowledged. "We're shutting off." - -Crag remembered that the German's interphones were still connected. Slip -one. He decided to leave his own open--at least he'd be forewarned if -anyone tried to alert the Red Dog crew. He turned back toward the -rocket. Red Dog was dropping about two or three miles from the Aztec in -the direction of the wrecked Baker. - -White smoke and flame poured from its stern tubes. It slowed visibly as -it neared the lunar surface. He thought that a plumb bob dropped through -the long axis of the rocket would form a right angle with the surface -of Arzachel. Pilot's good, he thought. He watched until it touched down -teetering on its stern tubes for a moment before coming to rest; then he -turned and hurried to overtake Prochaska. - -The Chief's face behind his mask was covered with perspiration. He -panted heavily. Crag beckoned him to follow and moved behind a low swale -of rock where they would be safe from detection. The nose of Bandit -jutted into the sky about a mile ahead of them. He motioned toward it, -gesturing for Prochaska to go on. The Chief nodded understanding and -struck off. - -Crag turned and began climbing a low rocky ridge that now lay between -him and Red Dog. He stopped just below its crest and searched for a safe -vantage point. To his right a serrated rock structure extended up over -the backbone of the ridge. He angled toward it, then followed the -outcropping to a point where he could see the plain beyond. Red Dog had -its tail planted in the ash about three miles distant. - -Minute figures milled at its base, small blobs of movement against the -crater floor. No sounds broke the silence of Crag's open interphones. He -took this as a sign that the Red Dog sets operated on a different band. -But he couldn't be sure. The tremendous advantage of having -communication with his own men must be discarded. - -His vigil was rewarded a few moments later when the blobs around Red -Dog's base began moving in the direction of the Aztec. It struck him -that they couldn't see the rocket from their present position due to -small intervening hillocks, although both Baker and Charlie were clearly -visible. He decided the Aztec's horizontal position had tipped them to -its identity while they were still space-borne. One of the Red Dog -crewmen, obviously the leader, drew ahead of his companions. The other -two seemed to be struggling with some object they carried between them. -They moved close together, halting from time to time. He returned his -gaze to the rocket, conjecturing that another crewman would have -remained behind. If so, he was in the space cabin. The ship seemed -lifeless. The landing party approached a small ridge overlooking the -Aztec, bringing them closer to his lookout. - -He saw that the two men following the leader were having difficulty with -their burden. They walked slowly, uncertainly, pausing from time to -time. The lead man started up the rocky knoll overlooking the Aztec. His -movements were slow, wary. He crouched near the top of the ridge, -scanning the plain beyond before waving to his companions to follow. The -gesture told Crag that their interphones were disconnected. The crewmen -near the base of the knoll started climbing, moving with extreme -difficulty. He watched them, wondering, until they reached the leader. -They stood for a moment scouting the plain, then two of the men crouched -over the burden they had lugged up the knoll. - -A weapon, Crag guessed. He tried to discern its shape but failed. A few -moments later one of the men stepped back. A puff of white rose from the -knoll. A trail of vapor shot toward the Aztec. A portable rocket -launcher! His eyes tracked the missile's flight. The vapor trail -terminated at its target. An instant later the Aztec disintegrated. -Black chunks of the rocket hurtled into the lunar skies, becoming lost -to sight. Within seconds only a jagged few feet of broken torn metal -marked the site of man's first successful landing on the moon. _Wow, -what a weapon_, he thought. It didn't merely push a hole in the Aztec. -It disintegrated it, completely. That was one for Gotch. He filed the -thought away and watched. - -The figures on the knoll searched the scene for a long time. Finally -they turned and started back, carrying the rocket launcher with them. -The act of saving the weapon told him that Red Dog carried more rockets -than just the single shot fired--a disconcerting thought. - -He cautiously withdrew from his post and picked his way down the ridge -toward Bandit, moving as rapidly as the rough terrain permitted. -Everything now depended on the next move of the Red Dog's crew, he -thought. One thing was certain--there would be no quarter shown. The -ruthless destruction of the Aztec had set the pattern for the coming -battle of Arzachel. It was a declaration of war with all rules of human -warfare discarded. Well, that was okay with him. - -He was breathing heavily by the time he reached a spot overlooking -Bandit. Nagel had decompressed the cabin and they were waiting for him -with the hatch open. He crossed the clearing and a moment later was in -the space cabin. He watched the gauge until it was safe to cut off his -suit pressure and open his face plate. He looked at Richter; his face -was blank. Tersely, then, he related what had happened. - -"I sort of expected that," Prochaska said quietly when he had finished. -"It was the logical way." - -"Logical to attempt to murder men?" Nagel asked bitterly. - -"Entirely logical," Crag interjected. "The stakes are too big for a few -human lives to matter. At least we've been warned." - -He turned to Prochaska. "Disconnect Richter's mikes until this show's -over." - -The Chief nodded. Richter stood quietly by while his lip microphone was -disconnected and withdrawn from the helmet. Nagel's face showed -satisfaction at the act, but Larkwell's expression was wooden. - -Crag said, "Defense of Bandit will be under Prochaska's command." He -looked grimly at his second-in-command. "Your fort has one automatic -rifle. Make it count if you have to use it." The Chief nodded. - -Larkwell spoke up, "How about you?" - -"I'll be scouting with the other automatic rifle. Stay in your suits and -keep ready. If they start to bring up the rocket launcher I'll signal. -If that happens you'll have to get out of here, pronto. You'd better -check your oxygen," he added as an afterthought. - -"If they think we're dead ducks they won't be toting the launcher," -Prochaska said. - -"We hope." Crag exchanged his oxygen cylinder for a fresh one, then -checked one of the automatic rifles, slipping two extra clips in his -belt. On second thought he hooked a spare oxygen cylinder to the back -straps. He nodded to Nagel, snapped his face plate shut and pressurized -his suit. When the cabin was decompressed, he opened the hatch, scanning -the knoll carefully before descending to the plain. He struck off toward -the ridge overlooking Red Dog. The ground on this side of the spur was -fairly flat and he made good time, but was panting heavily by the time -he reached his lookout point on the crest. - - - - -CHAPTER 15 - - -Crag sighted the Red Dog party immediately--three figures plodding in -single file toward Drone Baker. He saw with satisfaction that they had -discarded the rocket launcher. He took that as a sign they believed the -Aztec crew dead. He found a halfway comfortable sitting position, and -settled back to await developments. - -The distant figures moved across the plain with maddening slowness. From -time to time he returned his eyes to the enemy rocket. It showed no -signs of life. Once he debated taking the gamble of trying to reach it, -but as quickly discarded the idea. Caught on the open plain and he'd be -a gone gosling. - -He waited. - -After what seemed a long while, the invaders reached a point overlooking -Drone Baker. One of the figures remained on a small rise overlooking the -drone while the other two separated and approached it from different -directions. The tactic disquieted him. It indicated that the newcomers -were not entirely convinced that they were alone in Crater Arzachel. - -After another interminably long time, the two figures approaching the -rocket met at its base. They walked around the rocket several times, -then struck out, this time toward Drone Charlie. Their companion left -his lookout point and cut across the plain to join them. - -Crag squirmed uncomfortably. He was tired and hungry; his muscles ached -from the constriction of the suit. His body was hot and clammy, and -perspiration from his brow stung his eyes. He sighed, wishing he had a -cigarette. Strange, he hadn't smoked in over a year but all at once the -need for tobacco seemed overwhelming. He pushed the thought aside. - -The invaders were strung out in single file, moving in a direction which -brought them closer to his position. He shifted to a point below the -crest, moving slowly to avoid detection. Their path crossed his field of -vision at a distance of about half a mile. At the closest point he saw -they carried rifles in shoulder slings. He took this as another -indication they suspected the presence of survivors. The invaders -stopped and rested at a point almost opposite him. He fidgeted, trying -to get his body into a more comfortable position. - -Finally they resumed their trek. Before they reached the drone they -halted. One man remained in the cover of a spur of rock while the other -two separated and advanced on the drone from different directions. Crag -cursed under his breath. They certainly weren't going to be sitting -ducks. Perhaps it was just a precaution. Simply good infantry tactics, -he told himself, but it still raised a complication. - -He waited. The two invaders closed on the drone, meeting at its base. -They evidently decided it was abandoned, for they left within a few -minutes walking to join their waiting companion. After a short huddle -they struck out in the direction of Bandit. This was the move he had -waited for. - -He withdrew to the lee side of the ridge and picked his way toward -Bandit as rapidly as possible, taking care not to brush against the -sharp slivers of rock. He drew near the rocket, thinking that the open -hatch would be a dead giveaway. Still, there was no alternative. A fort -without a gunport was no fort at all. He climbed to a spot close to the -crest of the ridge and peered back in the direction of the invaders, -startled to find they were nearer than he had supposed. He hastily -withdrew his head, deciding it was too late to warn the others to -abandon the rocket. If the invaders climbed straight up the opposite -side of the ridge, they conceivably could catch his crew on the open -plain. That made another complication. - -He scanned the ridge. Off to his right a series of granite spurs jutted -from the base rock in finger formation. He picked his way toward them, -then descended until he found shelter between two rock outcroppings -which gave him a clear view of Bandit. He checked his automatic rifle, -moving the control lever to the semi-automatic position. The black -rectangle that marked Bandit's hatch seemed lifeless. - -He waited. - -Long minutes passed. He cursed the eternal silence of the moon which -robbed him of the use of his ears. A cannon could fire within an inch of -his back and he'd never know it, he thought. He moved his head slightly -forward from time to time in an effort to see the slope behind him. -Nothing happened. His body itched intolerably from perspiration. He -readjusted the suit temperature setting, gaining a slight respite from -the heat. All at once he caught movement out of the corner of his face -plate and involuntarily jerked his head back. He waited a moment, aware -that his heart was pounding heavily, then cautiously moved forward. One -of the invaders was picking his way down the slope in a path that would -take him within thirty yards of his position. The man moved slowly, -half-crouched, keeping his rifle cradled across his arm. - -They know, he thought. The open hatch was the giveaway. He anxiously -searched Bandit. No sign of life was visible. He gave silent thanks that -the invaders had not lugged their rocket launcher with them. Prochaska, -he knew, would be watching, crouched in the shadow of the hatch opening -behind the heavy automatic rifle. He estimated the distance between the -base of the slope and the rocket at 400 yards--close enough for -Prochaska to pick off anyone who ventured onto the plain. - -He waited while the invader passed abreast of him and descended to the -base of the plain, taking cover in the rocks. He halted there and looked -back. A few moments later Crag saw the second of the invaders moving -down the slope about a hundred yards beyond his companion. He, too, -stopped near the base of the rocks. Where was the third man? The same -technique they used before, Crag decided. He would be covering his -companions' advance from the ridge. That made it more difficult. - -He studied the two men at the edge of the plain. It looked like a -stalemate. They either had to advance or retreat. Their time was -governed by oxygen. If they advanced, they'd be dead pigeons. Prochaska -couldn't miss if they chose to cross the clearing. As it was, neither -side could get a clear shot at the distance separating them, although -the invaders could pour a stream of shells into the open hatch. But -Prochaska would be aware of that danger and would have taken refuge to -one side of the opening, he decided. There was another complication. -The shells were heavy enough to perforate the rocket. Well, he'd worry -about that later. He moved his head for a better view of the invaders. - -The man nearest him had gotten into a prone position and was doing -something with the end of his rifle. Crag watched, puzzled. Suddenly the -man brought the rifle to his shoulder, and he saw that the end of the -muzzle was bulged. Rifle grenade! Damn, they'd brought a regular -arsenal. If he managed to place one in the open hatch, the Bandit crew -was doomed. Heedless of the other two Red Dog crewmen, he stepped out -between the shoulders of rock to gain freedom of movement and snapped -his own weapon to his shoulder. He had trouble fitting his finger into -the trigger guard. The enemy was spraddled on his stomach, legs apart, -adjusting his body to steady his weapon. - -Crag moved his weapon up, bringing the prone man squarely into his -sights. He squeezed the trigger, feeling the weapon jump against his -padded shoulder, and leaped back into the protective cover of rock. -Something struck his face plate. Splinter of rock, he thought. The -watcher on the ridge hadn't been asleep. He dropped to his knees and -crawled between the rock spurs to gain a new position. The sharp needle -fragments under his hands and knees troubled him. One small rip and he'd -be the late Adam Crag. He finally reached a place where he could see the -lower end of the ridge. - -The man he'd shot was a motionless blob on the rocky floor, his arms and -legs pulled up in a grotesque fetal position. The vulnerability of human -life on the moon struck Crag forcibly. A bullet hole anywhere meant -sudden violent death. A hit on the finger was as fatal as a shot through -the heart. Once air pressure in a suit was lost a man was dead--horribly -dying within seconds. A pinhole in the suit was enough to do it. His -eyes searched for the dead man's companions. The ridge and plain seemed -utterly lifeless. Bandit was a black canted monolith rising above the -plain, seeming to symbolize the utter desolation and silence of Crater -Arzachel. For a moment he was fascinated. The very scene portended -death. It was an eery feeling. He shook it off and waited. He was -finally rewarded by movement. A portion of rock near the edge of the -plain seemed to rise--took shape. The dead man's companion had risen to -a kneeling position, holding his rifle to his shoulder. - -Crag raised his gun, wondering if he could hold the man in his sights. A -hundred and fifty yards to a rifleman clothed in a cumbersome space suit -seemed a long way. Before he could pull the trigger, the man flung his -arms outward, clawing at his throat for an instant before slumping to -the rocks. It took Crag a second to comprehend what had happened. -Prochaska had been ready. - -A figure suddenly filled the dark rectangle of Bandit, pointing toward -the ridge behind Crag. He apparently was trying to tell him something. -Crag scanned the ridge. It seemed deserted. He turned toward Bandit and -motioned toward his faceplate. The other understood. His interphones -crackled to life. Prochaska's voice was welcome. - -"I see him," he broke in. "He's moving up the slope to your right, -trying to reach the top of the ridge. Too far for a shot," he added. - -Crag scrambled into a clearing and scanned the ridge, just in time to -see a figure disappear over the skyline. He started up the slope in a -beeline for the crest. If he could reach it in time, he might prevent -the sniper from crossing the open plain which lay between the ridge and -Red Dog. Cops and robbers, he thought. Another childhood game had -suddenly been recreated, this time on the bleak plain of an airless -alien crater 240,000 miles from the sunny Southern California lands of -his youth. - -Crag reached the ridge. The plain on the other side seemed devoid of -life. In the distance the squat needle that was Red Dog jutted above -the ashy plain, an incongruous human artifact lost on the wastelands of -the moon. Only its symmetry distinguished it from the jagged monolithic -structures that dotted this end of the crater floor. He searched the -slope. Movement far down the knoll to his right caught his eye. The -fugitive was trying to reach a point beyond range of Crag's weapon -before cutting across the plain. He studied the terrain. Far ahead and -to the left of the invader the crater floor became broken by bizarre -rock formations of Backbone Ridge--a great half-circle which arced back -toward Red Dog. He guessed that the fantastic land ahead was the -fugitive's goal. - -He cut recklessly down the opposite slope and gained the floor of the -crater before turning in the direction he had last seen the invader. He -cursed himself for having lost sight of him. Momentarily, he slowed his -pace, thinking he was ripe for a bushwhacking job. His eyes roved the -terrain. No movement, no sign of his quarry. He moved quickly, but -warily, attempting to search every inch of the twisted rock formations -covering the slope ahead. His eye detected movement off to one side. At -the same instant a warning sounded in his brain and he flung himself -downward and to the side, hitting the rough ground with a sickening -thud. He sensed that the action had saved his life. He crawled between -some rock outcroppings, hugging the ground until he reached a vantage -point overlooking the area ahead. He waited, trying to search the slope -without exposing his position. Minutes passed. - -He tossed his head restlessly. His eyes roved the plain, searching, -attempting to discern movement. No movement--only a world of still -life-forms. The plain--its rocks and rills--stretched before him, barren -and endless. Strange, he thought, there should be vultures in the sky. -And on the plain creosote bushes, purple sage, cactus ... coyotes and -rattlesnakes. - -But ... no! This was an other-world desert, one spawned in the fires of -hell--a never-never land of scalding heat and unbelievable cold. He -thought it was like a painting by some mad artist. First he had sketched -in the plain with infinite care--a white-black, monotonous, unbroken -expanse. Afterward he had splashed in the rocks, painting with wild -abandon, heedless of design, form or structure, until the plain was a -hodgepodge of bizarre formations. They towered, squatted, pierced the -sky, crawled along the plain like giant serpents--an orgy in rock -without rhyme or reason. Somewhere in the lithic jungle his quarry -waited. He would flush him out. - -He thought that the sniper must be getting low on oxygen. He couldn't -afford to waste time. He had to reach Red Dog soon--if he were to live. -Crag checked his oxygen meter and began moving forward, conscious that -the chase would be governed by his oxygen supply. He'd have to remember -that. - -He reached a clearing on the slope just as the sniper disappeared into -the rock shadows on the opposite side. He hesitated. Would the pursued -man be waiting ... covering the trail behind him? He decided not to -chance crossing it and began skirting around its edge, fretting at the -minutes wasted. His earphones crackled and Prochaska's voice came, a -warning through the vacuum: - -"Nagel says your oxygen must be low." - -He glanced at the indicator on his cylinder. Still safe. He studied the -rocks ahead and told Prochaska: - -"I've got to keep this baby from reaching Red Dog." - -"Watch yourself. Don't go beyond the point of no return." Prochaska's -voice held concern. - -"Stop worrying." - -Crag pushed around the edge of the clearing with reckless haste. It was -hard going and he was panting heavily long before he reached the spot -where he had last seen the sniper. He paused to catch his breath. The -slope fell away beneath him, a miniature kingdom of jagged needle-sharp -rock. There was no sign of the fugitive. The plain, too, was devoid of -life. He descended to the edge of the clearing and picked his way -through the debris of some eon-old geologic catastrophe. Ahead and to -the left of the ridge, the plain was broken by shallow rills and weird -rock outcroppings. Farther out Backbone Ridge began as low mounds of -stone, becoming twisted black stalagmites hunched incongruously against -the floor of the crater, ending as jagged sharp needles of rock curving -over the plain in a huge arc. - -A moment later he caught sight of his quarry. The invader had cut down -to the edge of the plain, abandoning the protection of the ridge, making -a beeline for the nearest rock extrusion on the floor of the crater. Too -far away for a shot. Crag cursed and made a quick judgment, deciding to -risk the open terrain in hopes of gaining shelter before the sniper was -aware of his strategy. - -He abandoned the protection of the slope and struck out in a straight -line toward the distant mounds on the floor of the crater, keeping his -eyes on the fugitive. They raced across the clearing in parallel paths, -several hundred yards apart. The sniper had almost reached the first -rocks when he glanced back. He saw Crag and put on an extra burst of -speed, reaching the first rocks while Crag was still a hundred yards -from the nearest mound. Crag dropped to the ground, thankful that it was -slightly uneven. At best he'd make a poor target. He crawled, keeping -his body low, tossing his head in an effort to shake the perspiration -from his eyes. - -"How you doing, skipper?" It was Prochaska. Lousy, Crag thought. He -briefed him without slowing his pace. - -The ashy plain just in front of him spurted in little fountains of white -dust. He dropped flat on his belly with a gasp. - -"You all right?" - -"Okay," Crag gritted. "This boy's just using me for target practice." -Prochaska's voice became alarmed. He urged him to retreat. - -"We can get them some other way," he said. - -"Not if they once get that launcher in operation. I'm moving on." There -was a moment of silence. - -"Okay, skipper, but watch yourself." His voice was reluctant. "And watch -your oxygen." - -"Roger." He checked his gauge and hurriedly switched to the second -cylinder. Now he was on the last one. The trick would be to stretch his -oxygen out until the chase was ended--until the man ahead was a corpse. - -He clung to the floor of the crater, searching for shelter. The ground -rose slightly to his right. He crawled toward the rise, noting that the -terrain crested high enough to cut his view of the base of the rocks. -Satisfied that he was no longer visible, he began inching his way toward -the nearest mounds. - - - - -CHAPTER 16 - - -Crag studied the scene. He lay at one end of the great crescent of rock -forming Backbone Ridge, the other end of which ended about half a mile -from Red Dog. The floor of the crater between the rocket and the nearest -rock formations was fairly level and unbroken. The arced formation -itself was a veritable jungle of rocks of every type--gnarled, twisted -rock that hugged the ground, jutting black pinnacles piercing the sky, -bizarre bubble formations which appeared like weird ebony eskimo cities, -and great fantastic ledges which extruded from the earth at varying -angles, forming black caves against their bases. - -Whole armies could hide there, he thought. Only the fugitive couldn't -hide. Oxygen was still the paramount issue. He'd have to thread his way -through the terrible rock jungle to the distant tip of the crescent, -then plunge across the open plain to the rocket if he hoped to survive. -The distance between the horns of the crescent appeared about three -miles. He pondered it thoughtfully, then got on the interphones and -outlined his plan to Prochaska. - -"Okay, I know better than to argue," the Chief said dolefully when he -had finished. "But watch your oxygen." Damn the oxygen, Crag thought -irritably. He studied the labyrinth of rock into which his quarry had -vanished, then rose and started across the plain in a direct line for -the opposite tip of the crescent. - -The first moments were the hardest. After that he knew he must be almost -out of range of the sniper's weapon. Perhaps, even, the other had not -seen his maneuver. He forced himself into a slow trot, his breath -whistling in his ears and his body sodden inside his suit. Perspiration -stung his eyes, his leg muscles ached almost intolerably, and every -movement seemed made on sheer will power. The whimsical thought crossed -his mind that Gotch had never painted this side of the picture. Nor was -it mentioned in the manual of space survival. - -He was thankful that the plain between the two tips of the crescent was -fairly even. He moved quickly, but it was a long time before he reached -the further tip of the crescent. He wondered if he had been observed -from Red Dog. Well, no matter, he thought. He had cut the sniper's sole -avenue of escape. Victory over his quarry was just a matter of time, a -matter of waiting for him to appear. He picked a vantage point, a high -rocky ledge which commanded all approaches to his position. After -briefing Prochaska, he settled back to wait, thinking that the fugitive -must be extremely low on oxygen. - -Long minutes passed. Once or twice he thought he saw movement among the -rocks and started to lift his rifle; but there was no movement. -Illusions, he told himself. His eyes were playing him tricks. The -bizarre sea of rocks confronting him was a study in black and white--the -intolerable light of sun-struck surfaces contrasting with the stygian -blackness of the shadows. His eyes began to ache and he shifted them -from time to time to shut out the glare. He was sweating again and there -was a dull ache at the back of his head. Precious time was fleeing. He'd -have to resolve the chase--soon. - -All at once he saw movement that was not an illusion. He half rose, -raising his rifle when dust spurted from the ground a few feet to his -left. He cursed and threw himself to the ground, rolling until he was -well below the ridge. One thing was certain: the sniper had the ridge -well under control. The Red Dog watcher must have warned him, he -thought. He looked around. Off to one side a small rill cut through the -rocks running in the sniper's general direction. He looked back toward -the ridge, hesitated, then decided to gamble on the rill. He moved -crablike along the side of the slope until he reached its edge and -peered over. The bottom was a pool of darkness. He lowered himself over -the edge with some misgivings, searching for holds with his hands and -feet. His boot unexpectedly touched bottom. - -Crag stood for a moment on the floor of the rill. His body was clothed -in black velvet shadows but it was shallow enough to leave his head in -the sunlight. He moved cautiously forward, half expecting the sniper to -appear in front of him. His nerves were taut, edgy. - -_Relax, boy, you're strung like a violin_, he told himself. _Take it -easy._ - -A bend in the rill cut off the sun leaving him in a well of blackness. -He hadn't counted on that. Before he'd moved another dozen steps he -realized the rill wasn't the answer. He'd have to chance getting back -into the open. More time was lost. He felt the steep sides until he -located a series of breaks in the wall, then slung his rifle over his -shoulder and inched upward until his head cleared the edge. The sun's -sudden glare blinded him. Involuntarily he jerked his head sideways, -almost losing his hold in the process. He clung to the wall for a moment -before laboriously pulling his body over the edge. - -He lay prone against the rocks, half-expecting to be greeted by a hail -of bullets. He waited quietly, without moving, then carefully raised his -head. Off to one side was a series of mounds. He crawled toward them -without moving his belly from the ground. When he reached the first one, -he half rose and scuttled forward until he found a view of the twisted -rocks where he had last seen the sniper. - -The scene ahead was a still-life painting. It seemed incongruous that -somewhere among the quiet rocks death moved in the form of a man. He -decided against penetrating further into the tangle of rocks. He'd wait. -He settled back, conscious that time was fleeing. - -"Skipper, are you checking your oxygen?" The Chief's voice rattled -against his eardrums. It was filled with alarm. - -"Listen, I have no time--" Crag started to growl. His words were clipped -short as his eyes involuntarily took the reading of his oxygen gauge. -Low ... low. He calculated quickly. He was well past the point of no -return--too low to make the long trip back to Bandit. He was done, gone, -a plucked gosling. He had bought himself a coffin and he'd rest there -for all eternity--boxed in by the weird tombstones of Crater Arzachel. -Adam Crag--the Man in the Moon. - -He grinned wryly. Well, at least his quarry was going with him. He -wouldn't greet his Maker empty handed. He tersely informed Prochaska of -his predicament, then recklessly moved to a high vantage point and -scanned the rocks beyond. - -He had to make every second count. Light and shadow ... light and -shadow. Somewhere in the crisscross of light and shadow was a man-form, -a blob of protoplasm like himself, a living thing that had to be stamped -out before the last of his precious oxygen was gone. He was the -executioner. Somewhere ahead a doomed man waited in the docks ... waited -for him to come. They were two men from opposite sides of the world, -battling to death in Hell's own backyard. Only he'd win ... win before -he died. - -He was scanning the rocky tableau when the sniper moved into his field -of vision, far to one side of Crag's position. He was running with short -choppy steps, threading between the rocks toward Red Dog. His haste and -apparent disregard of exposing himself puzzled Crag for a moment, then -he smiled grimly. Almost out of oxygen, he thought. Well, that makes two -of us. But he still had to make sure his quarry died. The thought -spurred him to action. - -He turned and scrambled back toward the tip of Backbone Ridge to cut the -sniper's escape route. He reached the end rocks and waited. A few -moments later he sighted a figure scrambling toward him. He raised his -rifle thinking it was too far for a shot, then lowered it again. The -sniper began moving more slowly and cautiously, then became lost to -sight in a maze of rock outcroppings. - -Crag waited impatiently, aware that precious moments were fleeing. He -was afraid to look at his gauge, plagued by the sense of vanishing -moments. Time was running out and eternity was drawing near--near to -Adam Crag as well as the sniper. The rocks extended before him, a -kaleidoscopic pattern of black and white. Somewhere in the tortuous -labyrinth was the man he had to kill before he himself died. He watched -nervously, trying to suppress the tension pulling at his muscles. A -nerve in his cheek twitched and he shook his head without removing his -eyes from the rocks ahead. Still there was no sign of the other. - -Who was the stalker and who was the stalked? The question bothered him. -Perhaps even at that instant the sniper was drawing bead. Then he'd be -free to reach Red Dog--safety. - -Crag decided he couldn't wait. He'd have to seek the other out, somehow -flush him from cover. He looked around. Off to one side a shelf of black -rock angled incongruously into the sky. Its sides were steep but its top -would command all approaches to the tip of the crescent. He made his way -to the base of the shelf and began scrambling up its steep sides, -finding it difficult to manage toe and hand holds. He slipped from time -to time, hanging desperately on to keep himself from rolling back to the -rocks below. Just below the top he rested, panting, fighting for breath, -conscious of his heart thudding in his ears. He had to hurry! - -Slowly, laboriously he pulled himself up the last few feet and lay -panting atop the shelf, none too soon. The sniper scrambled out of the -rocks a scant hundred yards from Crag's position. He raised his rifle, -then hesitated. The Red Dog crewman had fallen to his hands and knees -and was fighting to rise. He pushed his hands against the plain in an -attempt to get his feet under him. Crag lowered his rifle and watched -curiously. - -The sniper finally succeeded in getting to his feet. He stood for a -moment, weaving, before moving toward Crag's shelf with a faltering -zigzag gait. Crag raised the rifle and tried to line the sights. He had -difficulty holding the weapon steady. He started to pull the trigger -when the man fell again. Crag hesitated. The sniper floundered in the -ash, managed to pull himself half-erect. He weaved with a few faltering -steps and plunged forward on his face. - -Crag watched for a moment. There was no movement. The black blob of the -suit lay with the stillness of the rocks in the brazen heat of the -crater. So that's the way a man dies when his oxygen runs out, he -thought. He just plops down, jerks a little and departs, with as little -ceremony as that. He grinned crookedly, thinking he had just watched a -rehearsal of his own demise. He watched for a moment longer before -turning his face back toward the plain. - -Red Dog was a bare half-mile away--a clear level half-mile from the tip -of Backbone Ridge. That's how close the sniper had come to living. He -mulled the thought with a momentary surge of hope. Red Dog? Why not? If -he could shoot his way into the space cabin he'd live ... live. The -thought galvanized him to action. - -He slung his rifle over his shoulder and scrambled down the slope -heedless of the danger of ripping his suit. He could make it. He had to -make it! He gained the bottom and paused to catch his breath before -starting toward the rocket. A glance at his oxygen meter told him that -the race was futile. Still, he forced his legs into a run, threading -through the rocks toward the floor of the crater. He reached the tip of -the crescent panting heavily and plunged across the level floor of the -plain. His legs were leaden, his lungs burned and sweat filled his eyes, -stinging and blurring his vision. Still he ran. - -The rocket rose from the crater floor, growing larger, larger. He tried -to keep in a straight path, aware that he was moving in a crazy zigzag -course. - -The rocket loomed bigger ... bigger. It appeared immense. Caution, he -told himself, there's an hombre up there with a rifle. He halted, -feeling his body weave, and tried to steady himself. High up in the nose -of Red Dog the hatch was a dancing black shadow--black with movement. -He pulled the rifle from his shoulder and moved the control to full -automatic, falling to his knees as he did so. Strange, the ashy floor of -the crater was erupting in small fountains just to his side. Danger, he -thought, take cover. The warning bells were still ringing in his brain -as he slid forward on his stomach and tried to steady his weapon. Dust -spurted across his face plate. The black rectangle of the hatch danced -crazily in his sights. He pulled back on the trigger, feeling the heavy -weapon buck against his shoulder, firing until the clip was empty. His -fingers hurriedly searched his belt for the spare clips. Gone. Somehow -he'd lost them. He'd have to rush the rocket. - -He got to his feet, weaving dizzily, and forced his legs to move. Once -or twice he fell, regaining his feet with difficulty. - -He heard a voice. It took him a minute to realize it was his own. He was -babbling to Prochaska, trying to tell him ... - -The sky was black. No, it was white, dazzling white, white with heat, -red with flame. He saw Red Dog with difficulty. The rocket was a hotel, -complete with room clerk. He laughed inanely. A Single, please. No, I'll -only be staying for the night. He fell again. This time it took him -longer to regain his feet. He stumbled ... walked ... stumbled. His eyes -sought the rocket. It was weaving, swaying back and forth. Foolish, he -thought, there was no wind in Crater Arzachel. No air, no wind, no -nothing. Nothing but death. Wait, there was someone sitting on top of -the rocket--a giant of a man with a long white beard. He watched Crag -and smiled. He reached out a hand and beckoned. Crag ran. The sky -exploded within his brain, his legs buckled and he felt his face plate -smash against the ashy floor. For all eternity, he thought. The -blackness came. - - * * * * * - -Adam Crag opened his eyes. He was lying on his back. Above him the dome -of the sky formed a great black canopy sprinkled with brilliant stars. -His thoughts, chaotic memories, gradually stabilized and he remembered -his mad flight toward Red Dog. - -This couldn't be death, he thought. Spirits didn't wear space suits. He -sensed movement and twisted his head to one side. Gordon Nagel! The -oxygen man's face behind the heavy plate was thin, gaunt, but he was -smiling. Crag thought that he had never seen such a wonderful smile. -Nagel's lips crinkled into speech: - -"I was beginning to wonder when you'd make it." Even his voice was -different, Crag thought. The nasal twang was gone. It was soft, mellow, -deep with concern. He thought it was the most wonderful sound he had -ever heard. - -"Thanks, Gordon," he said simply. He spoke the words thinking it was the -first time he'd ever addressed the other by his first name. - -"How'd you ever locate me?" - -"Started early," Nagel said. "I was pretty sure you'd push yourself past -the point of no return. You seemed pretty set on getting that critter." - -"It's a wonder you located me." He managed to push himself to a sitting -position. - -"Prochaska didn't think I could. But I did. Matter of fact, I was pretty -close to you when you broke from the rocks heading for Red Dog." Red -Dog! Crag twisted his head and looked toward the rocket. - -"He's lying at the base of the rocket," Nagel said, in answer to his -unspoken question. "Your last volley sprayed him." - -"Skipper!" Prochaska's voice broke impatiently into his earphones. - -"Still alive," Crag answered. - -"Yeah--just." Prochaska's voice was peevish. "You were lucky with that -last burst of fire." - -"Thanks to my good marksmanship," Crag quipped weakly. - -"I wish you'd quit acting like a company of Marines and get back here." - -"Okay, Colonel." - -Prochaska cursed and Crag grinned happily. It was good to be alive, even -in Crater Arzachel. - -Nagel helped him to his feet and Crag stood for a moment, feeling the -strength surge back into his body. He breathed deeply, luxuriating in -the plentiful oxygen. Fresh oxygen. Fresh as a maiden's kiss, he thought -Oxygen was gold. More than gold. It was life. - -"Ready, now?" - -"Ready as I ever will be," Crag answered. "Lead on, Gordon." - -They had almost reached Bandit when Crag broke the silence. "Why did you -come ... to the moon, Gordon?" - -Nagel slowed his steps, then stopped and turned. - -"Why did you come, Commander?" - -"Because ... because ..." Crag floundered. "Because someone had to -come," he blurted. "Because I was supposed to be good in my field." His -eyes met Nagel's. The oxygen man was smiling, faintly. - -"I'm good in mine, too," he said. He chewed at his bottom lip for a -moment. - -"I could give the same reasons as you," he said finally. "Truthfully, -though, there's more to it." He looked at Crag defiantly. - -"I was a misfit on earth, Commander. A square peg in a round hole. I had -dreams ... dreams, but they were not the dreams of earth. They were -dreams of places in which there were no people." He gave an odd -half-smile. "Of course I didn't tell the psych doctors that." - -"There's plenty I didn't tell 'em, myself," Crag said. - -"Commander, you might not understand this but ... I like the moon." He -looked away, staring into the bleakness of Arzachel. Crag's eyes -followed his. The plain beyond was an ash-filled bowl broken by weird -ledges, spires, grotesque rocks. In the distance Backbone Ridge crawled -along the floor of the basin, forming its fantastic labyrinths. Yet ... -yet there was something fascinating, almost beautiful about the crater. -It was the kind of a place a man might cross the gulfs of space to see. -Nagel had crossed those gulfs. Yes, he could understand. - -"I'll never return to earth," he said, almost dreamily. - -"Nonsense." - -"Not nonsense, Commander. But I'm not unhappy at the prospect. Do you -remember the lines: - - _Under the wide and starry sky - Oh, dig the grave and let me lie ..._ - -Well, that's the way I feel about the moon." - -"You'll be happy enough to get back to earth," Crag predicted. - -"I won't get back, Commander. Don't want to get back." He turned -broodingly toward Bandit. - -"Maybe we'd better move on," Crag said gently. "I crave to get out of -this suit." - - - - -CHAPTER 17 - - -"Martin Larkwell was a good boy," the superintendent said reminiscently, -"and of course we're highly pleased he's made his mark in the world." He -looked at the agent and beamed. "Or should I say the moon?" The agent -smiled dutifully. - -"Young Martin was particularly good with his hands. Not that he wasn't -smart," he added hurriedly. "He was very bright, in fact, but he was -fortunate in that he coupled it with an almost uncanny knack of using -his hands." - -The superintendent rambled at length. The agent listened, thinking it -was the same old story. The men in the moon were all great men. They had -been fine, upstanding boys, all bright with spotless records. Well, of -course that was to be expected in view of the rigorous weeding out -program which had resulted in their selections. Only one of them was a -traitor. Which one? The question drummed against his mind. - -"Martin wasn't just a study drudge," the superintendent was saying. "He -was a fine athlete. The star forward of the Maple Hill Orphanage -basketball team for three years," he added proudly. He leaned forward -and lowered his voice as if taking the agent into his confidence. - -"We're conducting a drive to build the orphanage a new gym. Maybe you -can guess the name we've selected for it?" - -"The Martin Larkwell Gymnasium," the agent said drily. - -"Right." The superintendent beamed. "That's how much we think of Martin -Larkwell." - -As it turned out, the superintendent wasn't the only one who remembered -Martin Larkwell with fondness. A druggist, a grocer, a gas station -operator and a little gray lady who ran a pet shop remembered the orphan -boy with surprising affection. They and many others. That's the way the -chips fall, the agent thought philosophically. Let a man become famous -and the whole world remembers him. Well, his job was to separate the -wheat from the chaff. - -In the days to follow he painstakingly traced Martin Larkwell's trail -from the Maple Hill Orphanage to New York, to various construction jobs -along the East Coast and, finally, through other agents, to a two-year -stint in Argentina as construction boss for an American equipment firm. -Later the trail led back to America and, finally, to construction -foreman on Project Step One. His selection as a member of the Aztec Crew -stemmed from his excellent work and construction ability displayed -during building of the drones. All in all, the agent thought, the record -was clear and shiny bright. - -Martin Larkwell, Gordon Nagel, Max Prochaska, Adam Crag--four eager -scrub-faced American boys, each outstanding in his field. There was only -one hitch. Who was the traitor? - - * * * * * - -Crag filled Gotch in on the latest developments in Crater Arzachel. The -Colonel listened without interruption until he was through, then -retaliated with a barrage of questions. What was the extent of the -radioactive field? What were the dimensions of Red Dog? Had any progress -been made toward salvaging the cargo of Drone Baker? How was the airlock -in the rill progressing? Would he please describe the rocket launcher -the enemy had used to destroy the Aztec? Crag gritted his teeth to keep -from exploding, barely managing civil replies. Finally he could hold it -no longer. - -"Listen," he grated, "this is a four-man crew, not a damn army." - -"Certainly," Gotch interrupted, "I appreciate your difficulties. I was -just--in a manner of speaking--outlining what has to be done." - -"As if I didn't know." - -The Colonel pressed for his future plans. Crag told him what he thought -in no uncertain terms. When he finished he thought he heard a soft -chuckle over the earphones. Damn Gotch, he thought, the man is a sadist. -The Colonel gave him another morsel of information--a tidbit that -mollified him. - -Pickering Field, Gotch informed him, was now the official name of the -landing site in Crater Arzachel. Furthermore, the Air Force was -petitioning the Joint Chiefs to make it an official part of the U.S. -Air Force defense system. A fact which had been announced to the world. -Furthermore, the United States had petitioned the U.N. to recognize its -sovereignty over the moon. Before cutting off he added one last bit of -information, switching to moon code to give it. - -"_Atom job near completion_," he spelled out. For the moment Crag felt -jubilant. An atom-powered space ship spelled complete victory over the -Eastern World. It also meant Venus ... Mars ... magical names in his -mind. Man was on his way to the stars. MAN--the peripatetic quester. For -just an instant he felt a pang of jealousy. He'd be pinned to his vacuum -while men were conquering the planets. Or would he? But the mood passed. -Pickering Field, he realized, would play an important role in the future -of space flight. If it weren't the stars, at least it was the jump-off. -In time it would be a vast Air Force Base housing rockets instead of -stratojets. Pickering Base--the jump-off--the road to the stars. Pretty -soon the place would be filled with rank so high that the bird colonels -would be doing mess duty. But right now, he was Mr. Pickering Field, the -Man with the Brass Eyeballs. - -While the others caught up on their sleep, Crag and Prochaska reviewed -their homework, as the Chief had dubbed their planning sessions. The -area in which Bandit rested was too far from the nearest rill to use as -a base of operation, and it was also vulnerable to meteorite damage. -Bandit had to be abandoned, and soon. Red Dog would be their next home. -There was also the problem of salvaging the contents of Drone Baker and -removing the contents of Drone Charlie. Last, there was the problem of -building the airlock in one of the rills. When they had laid out the -problems, they exchanged quizzical glances. The Chief smiled weakly. - -"Seems like a pretty big order." - -"A very big order," Crag amended. "The first move is to secure Red -Dog." They talked about it until Crag found his eyelids growing heavy. -Prochaska, although tired, volunteered to take the watch. Crag nodded -gratefully--a little sleep was something he could use. - - * * * * * - -Red Dog was squat, ebony, taper-nosed, distinguishable from the lithic -structures dotting this section of Crater Arzachel only by its symmetry. -The grotesque rock ledges, needle-sharp pinnacles and twisted formations -of the plain clearly were the handiwork of a nature in the throes of -birth, when volcanoes burst and the floor of the crater was an uneasy -sea of white-hot magmatic rock. Red Dog was just as clearly the creation -of some other-world artificer, a creature born of the intelligence and -patience of man, structured to cross the planetary voids. Yet it seemed -a part of the plain, as ancient as the brooding dolomites and diorites -which made the floor of Arzachel a lithic wonderland. The tail of Red -Dog was buried in the ash of the plain. Its body reached upward, canted -slightly from the vertical, as if it were ready to spring again to the -stars. - -The rocket launcher had been removed. Now it stood on the plain off to -one side of the rocket, small and portable, like some deadly insect. The -launcher bothered Crag. He wanted to destroy it--or the single missile -that remained--but was deterred by its possible use if the enemy should -land another manned ship. In the end he left it where it was. - -One of the numerous rills which crisscrossed the floor of the crater cut -near the base of the rocket at a distance of about ten yards. It was a -shallow rill, about twelve feet wide and ten feet deep, with a bottom of -soft ash. - -Adam Crag studied the rocket and rill in turn, a plan gradually forming -in his mind. The rocket could be toppled, its engines removed and an -airlock installed in the tail section, as had been done with the Aztec. -It could be lowered into the rill and its body, all except the airlock, -covered with ash. Materials salvaged from the drones could be used to -construct extensions running along the floor of the rill and these, in -turn, covered with ash. This, then, would be the first moonlock, a place -where man could live, safe from the constant danger of destruction by -chance meteorites. - -He looked thoughtfully at the sun. It was an unbearable circle of white -light hanging in the purple-black sky just above the horizon. Giant -black shadows crept out from the towering walls of the crater. Within -another twenty-four hours they would engulf the rocket. During the lunar -night--two weeks long--the crater floor would be gripped in the cold of -absolute space; the rocket would lie in a stygian night broken only by -the brilliance of the stars and the reflected light of an earth which -would seem to fill the sky. But they couldn't wait for the advent of a -new day. They would have to get started immediately. - -Larkwell opposed the idea of working through the long lunar night. He -argued that the suits would not offer sufficient protection against the -cold, they needed light to work, and that the slow progress they would -make wouldn't warrant the risks and discomfort they would have to -undergo. Nagel unexpectedly sided with Crag. He cited the waste of -oxygen which resulted by having to decompress Bandit every time someone -left or entered the ship. - -"We need an airlock, and soon," he said. - -Crag listened and weighed the arguments. Larkwell was right. The space -suits weren't made to withstand prolonged exposure during the bitter -hours of the lunar night. But Nagel was right, too. - -"I doubt if we could live cooped up in Bandit for two weeks without -murdering one another," Prochaska observed quietly. "I vote we go -ahead." - -"Sure, you sit on your fanny and monitor the radio," Larkwell growled. -"I'm the guy who has to carry the load." - -Prochaska reddened and started to answer when Crag cut in: "Cut the -damned bickering," he snapped. "Max handles the communication because -that's his job." He looked sharply at Larkwell. The construction boss -grunted but didn't reply. - - * * * * * - -Night and bitter cold came to Crater Arzachel with a staggering blow. -Instantly the plain became a black pit lighted only by the stars and the -enormous crescent of the earth--an airless pit in which the temperature -plunged until metal became as brittle as glass and the materials of the -space suits stiffened until Crag feared they would crack. - -Larkwell warned against continuing their work. - -"One misstep in lowering Red Dog and it'll shatter like an egg." - -Crag realized he was right. Lowering the rocket in the bitter cold and -blackness would be a superhuman job. Loss of the rocket would be -disastrous. Against this was the necessity of obtaining shelter from the -meteor falls. His determination was fortified by the discovery that a -stray meteorite had smashed the nose of Drone Charlie. He decided to go -on. - -The cold seeped through their suits, chilled their bones, touched their -arms and legs like a thousand pin pricks and lay like needles in their -lungs until every movement was sheer agony. Yet their survival depended -upon movement, hence every moment away from Bandit was filled with -forced activity. But even the space cabin of Bandit was more like an -outsized icebox than a place designed for human habitation. The rocket's -insulated walls were ice to the touch, their breaths were frosty -streams--sleep was possible only because of utter fatigue. At the end of -each work shift the body simply rebelled against the task of retaining -consciousness. Thus a few hours of merciful respite against the cold was -obtained. - -Crag assigned Prochaska the task of monitoring the radio despite his -plea to share in the more arduous work. The knowledge that one of his -crew was a saboteur lay constantly in his mind. He had risked leaving -Prochaska alone before, he could risk it again, but he wasn't willing to -risk leaving any of the others alone in Bandit. Yet, Prochaska hadn't -found the bomb! Larkwell had worked superhumanly at the task of -rebuilding the Aztec--Nagel had saved his life when he could just as -easily have let him die. Neither seemed the work of a saboteur. Yet the -cold fact remained--there was a saboteur! - -Richter, too, preyed on his mind. The self-styled Eastern scientist was -noncommittal, speaking only when spoken to. Yet he performed his -assigned duties without hesitation. He had, in fact, made himself so -useful that he almost seemed one of the crew. That, Crag told himself, -was the danger. The tendency was to stop watching Richter, to trust him -farther and farther. Was he planning, biding his time, preparing to -strike? How? When? He wished he knew. - - * * * * * - -They toppled Red Dog in the dark of the moon. - -Larkwell had run two cables to manually operated winches set about -twenty-five yards from the rocket. A second line extended from each -winch to the ravine. The ends of these were weighted with rocks. They -served to anchor the winches during the lowering of the rocket. Finally -a guide line ran from the nose of the rocket to a third winch. Richter -and Nagel manned the lowering winches while Larkwell worked with the -guide line, with only small hand torches to aid them. It was -approximately the same setup used on the Aztec--they were getting good -at it. Crag helped until the moment came to lower the rocket, then there -was little for him to do. He contented himself with watching the -operation, playing his torch over the scene as he felt it was needed. - -It was an eery feeling. The rocket was a black monster bathed in the -puny yellow rays of their hand torches. The pale light gave the illusion -of movement until the rocket, the rocks, and the very floor of the -crater seemed to writhe and squirm, playing tricks on the eyes. It was, -he knew, a dangerous moment, one ripe for a saboteur to strike--or ripe -for Richter. - -It was dark. Not an ebony dark but one, rather, with the odd color of -milky velvet. The earth was almost full, a gigantic globe whose -reflected light washed out the brilliance of the stars and gave a milky -sheen to Crater Arzachel. It was a light in which the eye detected form -as if it were looking through a murky sea. It detected form but missed -detail. Only the gross structures of the plain were visible: the -blackness of the rocket reaching upward into the night; fantastic -twisted rocks which blotted out segments of the stars; the black blobs -of men moving in heavy space suits, dark shadows against the still -darker night. The eery almost futile beams of the hand torches seemed -worse than useless. - -"All set." Larkwell's voice was grim. "Let her come." - -Crag fastened his eyes on the nose of Red Dog, a tapered indistinct -silhouette. - -"Start letting out line at the count of three." There was a pause before -Larkwell began the countdown. - -"One ... two ... three...." - -The nose moved, swinging slowly across the sky, then began falling. - -"Slack off!" - -The lines jerked, snapped taut, and the nose hung suspended in space, -then began swinging to one side. - -"Take up on your line, Richter." The sideward movement stopped, leaving -the rocket canted at an angle of about forty-five degrees. - -"Okay...." The nose moved down again, slower this time. Crag began to -breathe easier. Suddenly the nose skidded to the rear, falling, then -the rocket was a motionless blob on the plain. - -"That did it." Larkwell's voice was ominous, yet tinged with disgust. - -"What happened?" Crag found himself shouting into the lip mike. - -"The tail slipped. That's what we get for trying to lower it under these -conditions," Larkwell snarled. "The damn thing's probably smashed." - -Crag didn't answer. He moved slowly toward the rocket, playing his torch -over its hull in an attempt to discern its details. He was conscious -that the others had come up and were doing the same thing, but even when -he stood next to it Red Dog was no more than a black shadow. - -"Feel it," Larkwell barked, "that's the only way to tell. The torches -are useless." They followed his advice. Crag walked alongside the -rocket, moving his hand over the smooth surface. He had reached the tail -and started back on the opposite side when Larkwell's voice rang in his -ears. - -"Smashed!" - -"Where?" - -"The under side--where she hit the deck. Looks like she came down on a -rock." - -Crag hurried back around the rocket, nearly stumbling over Larkwell's -legs. The construction boss was lying on his stomach. - -"Under here." Crag dropped to his knees, then to his stomach and moved -alongside Larkwell, playing his beam over the hull. He saw the break -immediately, a ragged, gaping hole where the metal had shattered against -a small rock outcropping. Too big for a weld? Larkwell answered his -unspoken thought. - -"You'll play hell getting that welded." - -"It might be possible." - -"There may be more breaks." They lay there for a moment playing their -beams along the visible underside of Red Dog until they were satisfied -that, in this section at least, there was no more damage. - -"What now?" Larkwell asked, when they had crawled back from under the -rocket. - -"The plans haven't changed," Crag said stonily. "We repair it ... fix it -up ... move in. That's all there is to it." - -"You can't fix it by just saying so," Larkwell growled. "First it's got -to be fixable. It looks like a cooked duck, to me." - -"We gotta start back," Nagel said urgently, "oxygen's getting low." - -Crag looked at his gauge. Nagel was right. They'd have to get moving. He -was about to give the signal to return to Bandit when Richter spoke up. - -"It can be repaired." For a moment there was a startled silence. - -"How?" - -"The inside of the cabin is lined with foam rubber, the same as in -Bandit--a self-sealing type designed for protection against meteorite -damage." - -"So...?" Larkwell asked belligerently. - -Richter explained, "It's not porous. If the break were covered with -metal and lined with the foam, it would do a pretty good job of sealing -the cabin." - -"You can't patch a leak that big with rubber and expect it to hold," -Larkwell argued. "Hell, the pressure would blow right through." - -"Not if you lined the break with metal first," Richter persisted. - -The suggestion startled Crag, coming as it did from a man whom he -regarded as an enemy. For a moment he wondered if the German's instinct -for survival were greater than his patriotism. But the plan sounded -plausible. - -He asked Larkwell: "What do you think?" - -"Could be," he replied noncommittally. He didn't seem pleased that -Richter was intruding in a sphere which he considered his own. - -Crag gave a last look at the silhouette of the fallen giant on the plain -and announced: "We'll try it." - -"If it doesn't work, we're in the soup," Larkwell insisted. "Suppose -there are more breaks?" - -"We'll patch those, too," Crag snapped. He felt an unreasonable surge of -anger toward the construction boss. He sucked his lip, vexedly, then -turned his torch on his oxygen meter. "We'd better get moving." - - - - -CHAPTER 18 - - -Colonel Michael Gotch looked at the agent across the narrow expanse of -his battered desk, then his eyes fell again to the dockets. Four -dockets, four small sheaves of paper, each the capsuled story of a man's -life. The names on the dockets were literally burned into his mind: Adam -Philip Crag, Martin LeRoy Larkwell, Gordon Wells Nagel, Max Edward -Prochaska. Four names, four men, four separate egos who, by the magic of -man, had been transported to a bleak haven on another world. Four men -whose task was to survive an alien hell until the U.N. officially -recognized the United States' claim to sovereignty over the stark lands -of the moon. - -But one of the men was a saboteur, an agent whose task was to destroy -the Western claim to ownership by destroying its occupancy of the moon. -That would leave the East free to claim at least equal sovereignty on -the basis that it, too, had established occupancy in a lunar base. - -The agent broke into his thoughts. "I'd almost stake my professional -reputation he's your man." He reached over and tapped one of the dockets -significantly. - -"The word, the single word, that's what you used to tell me to watch -for. Well, the single word is there--the word that spells traitor. I'd -gone over his record a dozen times before I stumbled on it." He ceased -speaking and watched the Colonel. - -"You may be right," Gotch said at last. "That's the kind of slip I'd -pounce on myself." He hesitated. - -"Go on," the agent said, as if reading his thoughts. - -"There's one thing I didn't tell you because I didn't want to prejudice -your thinking. The psychiatrists agree with you." - -"The psychiatrists?" The agent's brow furrowed in a question. - -"They've restudied the records exhaustively, ever since we first knew -there was a saboteur in the crew. - -"They've weighed their egos, dissected their personalities, analyzed -their capabilities, literally taken them apart and put them together -again. I got their report just this morning." Gotch looked speculatively -at the agent. "Your suspect is also their choice. Only there is no -traitor." - -"No traitor?" The agent started visibly. "I don't get you." - -"No traitor," Gotch echoed. "This is a tougher nut than that. The -personality profile of one man shows a distinct break." He looked -expectantly at the agent. - -"A plant." The agent muttered, the words thoughtfully. "A ringer--a spy -who has adopted the life role of another. That indicates careful -planning, long preparation." He muttered the words aloud, talking to -himself. - -"He would have had to cover every contingency--friends, relatives, -acquaintances, skills, hobbies--then, at an exact time and place, our -man was whisked away and he merely stepped in." He shook his head. - -"That's the kind of nut that's really tough to crack." - -"Crack it," Gotch said. - -The agent got to his feet "I'll dig him out," he promised savagely. - - * * * * * - -The drive to rehabilitate Red Dog became a frenzy in Crag's mind. He -drove his crew mercilessly, beset by a terrible sense of urgency. Nor -did he spare himself. They rigged lines in the dark of the moon and -rotated the rocket on its long axis until the break in the hull was -accessible. - -Crag viewed it with dismay. It was far longer than he had feared--a -splintered jagged hole whose raw torn edges were bent into the belly of -the ship. They finally solved the problem by using the hatch door of -Drone Charlie as a seal, lining it with sheets of foam from Bandit, -whose interior temperature immediately plummeted to a point where it was -scarcely livable. - -Prochaska bore the brunt of this new discomfort. Confined as he was to -the cabin and with little opportunity for physical activity, he nearly -froze until he took to living in his space suit. - -Crag began planning the provisioning of Red Dog even before he knew it -could be repaired. During each trip from Bandit he burdened the men with -supplies. Between times he managed to remove the spare oxygen cylinders -carried in Drone Charlie. There was still a scant supply in Drone Baker, -but he decided to leave those until later. - -The problems confronting him gnawed at his mind until each small -difficulty assumed giant proportions. Each time he managed to fit the -work into a proper mental perspective a new problem or disaster cropped -up. He grew nervous and irritable. In his frantic haste to complete the -work on Red Dog he found himself begrudging the crew the few hours they -took off each day for sleep. _Take it easy_, he finally told himself. -_Slow down_, Adam. Yet despite his almost hourly resolves to slow down, -he found himself pushing at an ever faster pace. Complete Red Dog ... -complete Red Dog ... became a refrain in his mind. - -Larkwell grew sullen and surly, snapping at Richter at the slightest -provocation. Nagel became completely indifferent, and in the process, -completely ineffectual. Crag had long realized that the oxygen man had -reached his physical limits. Now, he knew, Nagel had passed them. Maybe -he was right ... maybe he wouldn't leave the moon. - -When the break in Red Dog was repaired, Crag waited, tense and jittery, -while Nagel entered the rocket and pressurized it. It'll work, he told -himself. It's got to work. The short period Nagel remained in the rocket -seemed to extend into hours before he opened the hatch. - -"One or two small leaks," he reported wearily. He looked disconsolately -at Crag. "Maybe we can locate them--with a little time." - -"Good." Crag nodded, relieved. Another crisis past. He ordered Larkwell -to start pulling the engines. If things went right.... - -The work didn't progress nearly as fast as he had hoped. For one thing, -the engines weren't designed for removal. They were welded fast against -cross beams spread between the hull. Consequently, the metal sides of -the ship were punctured numerous times before the job was completed. -Each hole required another weld, another patch, and increased the danger -of later disaster. - -Crag grew steadily moodier. Larkwell seemed to take a vicious -satisfaction out of each successive disaster. He had adopted an -I-told-you-so attitude that grated Crag's nerves raw. Surprisingly -enough, Richter proved to be a steadying influence, at least to Crag. He -worked quietly, efficiently, seeming to anticipate problems and find -solutions before even Crag recognized them. Despite the fact that he -found himself depending on the German more and more, he was determined -never to relax his surveillance over the man. Richter was an enemy--a -man to be watched. - -Larkwell and Nagel were lackadaisically beginning work on the ship's -airlock when Prochaska came on the interphones with an emergency call. - -"Gotch calling," he told Crag. "He's hot to get you on the line." - -Crag hesitated. "Tell him to go to hell," he said finally. "I'll call -him on the regular hour." - -"He said you'd say that," Prochaska informed him amiably, "but he wants -you now." - -Another emergency--another hair-raiser. _Gotch is a damn ulcer-maker_, -Crag thought savagely. "Okay, I'm on my way," he said wearily. "Anything -to keep him off my back." - -"Can I tell him that?" - -"Tell him anything you want," Crag snapped. He debated taking the crew -with him but finally decided against it. They couldn't afford the time. -Reluctantly he put the work party in Larkwell's charge and started back -across the bowl of the crater, each step a deliberate weighted effort. -So much to do. So little time. He trudged through the night, cursing the -fate that had made him Gotch's pawn. - -Gotch was crisp and to the point. "Another rocket was launched from east -of the Caspian this morning," he told him. - -"Jesus, we need a company of Marines." - -"Not this time, Adam." - -"Oh ..." Crag muttered the word. - -"That's right ... a warhead," Gotch confirmed. - -Crag kicked the information around in his mind for a moment. "What do -the computers say?" - -"Too early to say for sure, but it looks like it's on the right track." - -"Unless it's a direct hit it's no go. We got ten thousand foot walls -rimming this hell-hole." - -The Colonel was silent for a moment. "It's not quite that pat," he said -finally. - -"Why not?" - -"Because of the low gravity. Thousands of tons of rock will be lifted. -Some will escape but the majority will fall back like rain. They'll -smash down over a tremendously large area, Adam. At least that's what -the scientists tell us." - -"Okay, in four days we'll be underground," he said with exaggerated -cheerfulness, "as safe as bunnies in their burrows." - -"Can you make it that fast?" - -"We'll have to. That means well have to use Prochaska. That'll keep you -off the lines except for the regular broadcast hour," he said with -satisfaction. - -Gotch snorted: "Go to hell." - -"Been on the verge of it ever since we left earth." - -"One other thing," Gotch said. "Baby's almost ready to try its wings." - -The atomic spaceship! Crag suppressed his excitement with difficulty. He -held down his voice. - -"About time," he said laconically. - -"Don't give me that blasé crap," the Colonel said cheerfully. "I know -exactly how you feel." He informed him that the enemy was proclaiming to -the world they had established a colony on the moon, and had formally -requested the United Nations to recognize their sovereignty over the -lunar world. "How's that for a stack of hogwash?" he ended. - -"Pretty good," Crag agreed. "What are we claiming?" - -"The same thing. Only we happen to be telling the truth." - -"How will the U.N. know that?" - -"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Adam. Just keep alive and -let us worry about the U.N." - -"I'm not going to commit suicide if that's what you're thinking." - -"You can--if you don't keep on your toes." - -"Meaning...?" - -"The saboteur...." His voice fell off for a moment. "I've been wanting -to talk with you about that, Adam. We have a lead. I can't name the man -yet because it's pretty thin evidence. Just keep on your toes." - -"I am. I'm a grown boy, remember?" - -"More than usual," Gotch persisted. "The enemy is making an all-out -drive to destroy Pickering Base. You can be sure the saboteur will do -his share. The stage is set, Adam." - -"For what?" - -"For murder." - -"Not this lad." - -"Don't be too cocky. Remember the Blue Door episode? You're the key -man ... and that makes you the key target. Without you the rest would -be a cinch." - -"I'll be careful," Crag promised. - -"Doubly careful," Gotch cautioned. "Don't be a sitting duck. I think -maybe we'll have a report for you before long," he added enigmatically. - -"If the warhead doesn't get us," Crag reminded him. "And thanks for all -the good news." He laughed mirthlessly. They exchanged a few more words -and cut off. He turned to Prochaska, weighing his gaunt face. - -"You get your wish, Max. Climb into your spaceman duds and I'll take you -for a stroll. As of now you're a working man." - -"Yippee," Prochaska clowned, "I've joined the international ranks of -workers." - -Crag's answering grin was bleak. "You'll be sorry," he said quietly. - - - - -CHAPTER 19 - - -The earth was no longer a round full ball. It was a gibbous mass of -milk-white light, humpbacked, a twisted giant in the sky whose reflected -radiance swept the lunar night and dimmed even the brightest of the -stars. Its beacon swept out through space, falling in Crater Arzachel -with a soft creamy sheen, outlining the structures of the plain with its -dim glow. - -Larkwell and Nagel had finished the airlock. The rocket had been tested -and, despite a few minute leaks they had failed to locate, the space -cabin was sufficiently airtight to serve their purpose. But the rocket -had still to be lowered into the rill. Larkwell favored waiting for the -coming sun. - -"It's only a few more days," he told Crag. - -"We can't wait." - -"We smashed this baby once by not waiting." - -"Well have to risk it," Crag said firmly. - -"Why? We're not that short of oxygen." - -Crag debated. Sooner or later the others would have to be told about the -new threat from the sides. That morning Gotch had given him ominous -news. The computers indicated it was going to be close. Very close. He -looked around. They were watching him, waiting for him to give answer to -Larkwell's question. - -He said softly: "Okay, I'll tell you why. There's a rocket homing in -with the name Arzachel on its nose." - -"More visitors?" The plaintive query came from Nagel. Crag shook his -head negatively. - -"We've got arms," Prochaska broke in confidently. He grinned "We'll -elect you Commander of the First Arzachel Infantry Company." - -"This rocket isn't manned." - -"No?" - -"It's a warhead," Crag said grimly, "a nuclear warhead. If we're not -underground when it hits...." He left the sentence dangling and looked -around. The masked faces were blank, expressionless. It was a moment of -silence, of weighing, before Larkwell spoke. - -"Okay," he said, "we drop her into the hole." - -He turned back and gazed at Red Dog. Nagel didn't move. He kept his eyes -on Crag, seemingly rooted to the spot until Prochaska touched his arm. - -"Come on, Gordon," he said kindly. "We've got work to do." Only then did -the oxygen man turn away. Crag had the feeling he was in a daze. - -They worked four hours beyond the regular shift before Crag gave the -signal to stop. The cables had been fastened to Red Dog--the winches -set. Now it was poised on the brink of the rill, ready for lowering into -the black depths. Crag was impatient to push ahead but he knew the men -were too tired. Even the iron-bodied Larkwell was faltering. It would be -too risky. Yet he only reluctantly gave the signal to start back toward -Bandit. - -They trudged across the plain--five black blobs, five shadows plodding -through a midnight pit. Crag led the way. The earth overhead gleamed -with a yellow-green light. The stars against the purple-black sky were -washed to a million glimmering pinpoints. The sky, the crater, the black -shadows etched against the blacker night bespoke the alienage of the -universe. Arzachel was the forgotten world. More, a world that never -was. It was solid matter created of nothingness, floating in -nothingness, a minute speck adrift in the terrible emptiness of the -cosmos. He shivered. It was an eery feeling. - -He reached Bandit and waited for the others to arrive. Prochaska, -fresher than the others, was first on the scene. He threw a mock salute -to Crag and started up the ladder. Larkwell and Richter arrived moments -later. He watched them approach. They seemed stooped--like old men, he -thought--but they gave him a short nod before climbing to the space -cabin. He was beginning to worry before Nagel finally appeared. The -oxygen man was staggering with weariness, barely able to stand erect. -Crag stepped aside. - -"After you, Gordon." - -"Thanks, Skipper." - -Crag anxiously watched while Gordon pulled his way up the rope ladder. -He paused halfway and rested his head on his arms. After a moment he -resumed the climb. Crag waited until he reached the cabin before -following. Could Nagel hold out? Could a man die of sheer exhaustion? -The worry nibbled at his mind. Maybe he should give him a day's -rest--let him monitor the communicator. Or just sleep. As it was his -contribution to their work was nil. He did little more than go through -the motions. - -Crag debated the problem while they pressurized the cabin and removed -their suits. What would Gotch do? Gotch would drive him till he died. -That's what Gotch would expect him to do. No, he couldn't be soft. Even -Nagel's slight contribution might make the difference between success or -failure. Life or death. He would have to ride it out. Crag set his lips -grimly. He had felt kinder toward the oxygen man since that brief period -when Nagel had let him peer into his mind. Now ... now he felt like his -executioner. Just when he was beginning to understand the vistas of -Nagel's being. But understanding and sympathizing with Nagel made his -task all the more difficult. Impatiently he pushed the problem from his -mind. There were other, bigger things he had to consider. Like the -warhead. - -Larkwell was getting out their rations when Prochaska slumped -wordlessly to the floor. Crag leaped to his side. The Chief's face was -white, drawn, twisted in a curious way. Crag felt bewildered. Odd but -his brain refused to function. He was struggling to make himself think -when he saw Nagel leap for his pressure suit. Understanding came. He -shouted to the others and grabbed for his own garments. He fought a wave -of dizziness while he struggled to get them on. His fingers were heavy, -awkward. He fumbled with the face plate for long precious seconds before -he managed to pull it shut and snap on the oxygen. - -Nagel had finished and was trying to dress Prochaska. Crag sprang to -help him. Together they managed to get him into his suit and turn on his -oxygen. Only then did he speak. - -"How did we lose oxygen, Gordon?" - -"I don't know." He sounded frightened. "A slow leak." He got out his -test equipment and fumbled with it. The others watched, waiting -nervously until he finally spoke. - -"A very slow leak. Must have been a meteorite strike." - -"Can you locate it?" - -Nagel shrugged in his suit "It'll take time--and cost some oxygen." - -Crag looked at him and decided he was past the point of work. Past, -even, the point of caring. - -"We'll take care of it," he said gently. "Get a little rest, Gordon." - -"Thanks, Skipper." Nagel slumped down in one of the seats and buried his -head in his arms. Before long Prochaska began to stir. He opened his -eyes and looked blankly at Crag for a long moment before comprehension -came to his face. - -"Oxygen?" - -"Probably a meteorite strike. But it's okay ... now." - -Prochaska struggled to his feet "Well, I needed the rest," he joked -feebly. - -The leak put an end to all thoughts of rations. They would have to -remain in their suits until it was found and repaired. At Crag's -suggestion Nagel and Larkwell went to sleep. More properly, they simply -collapsed in their suits. Richter, however, insisted on helping search -for the break in the hull. Crag didn't protest; he was, in fact, -thankful. - -It was Prochaska who found it--a small rupture hardly larger than a pea -in one corner of the cabin. - -"Meteorite," he affirmed, examining the hole. "We're lucky it hasn't -happened before." - -They patched the break and repressurized the cabin, then tested it. -Pressure remained constant. Crag gave a sigh of relief and started to -shuck his suit. Richter followed his example but Prochaska hesitated, -standing uncertainly. - -"Makes you leery," he said. - -"The chances of another strike are fairly low," Crag encouraged. "I feel -the same way but we can't live in these duds." He finished peeling off -his garments and Prochaska followed suit. - -Despite his fatigue sleep didn't come easy to Crag. He tossed -restlessly, trying to push the problems out of his mind. Just before he -finally fell asleep thought of the saboteur popped into his mind. I'll -be a sitting duck, he told himself. He was trying to pull himself back -to wakefulness when his body rebelled. - -He slept. - - * * * * * - -They prepared to lower Red Dog into the rill. Earth was humpbacked in -the sky, almost a crescent, with a bright cone of zodiacal light in the -east. The light was a herald of the coming sun, a sun whose rays would -not reach the depths of Crater Arzachel for another forty-eight hours. - -In the black pit of the crater the yellow torches of the work crew -played over the body of the rocket, making it appear like some -gargantuan monster pulled from the depths of the sea. It was poised on -the brink of the rill with cables encircling its body, running to -winches anchored nearby. The cables would be let out, slowly, allowing -the rocket to descend into the depths of the crevice. Larkwell on the -opposite side of the rill manned a power winch rigged to pull the rocket -over the lip of the crevice. - -"Ready on winch one?" His voice was a brittle bark, edgy with strain. -Nagel spoke up. - -"Ready on winch one." - -"Ready on winch two?" - -"Ready on winch two," Prochaska answered. - -"Here we go." The line from Red Dog to Larkwell's winch tautened, -jerked, then tautened once more. Red Dog seemed to quiver, and began -rolling slowly toward the brink of the rill. Crag watched from a nearby -spur of rock. He smiled wryly. Lowering rockets on the moon was getting -to be an old story. The cables and winches all seemed familiar. Well, -this would be the last one they'd have to lower. He hoped. Richter stood -beside him, silent. The rocket hung on the lip of the crevice for a -moment before starting over. - -"Take up slack." The lines to the anchor winches became taut and the -rocket hung, half-suspended in space. - -"Okay." Larkwell's line tightened again and the rocket jerked clear of -the edge, held in space by the anchor winches. - -"Lower away--slowly." - -Crag moved to the edge of the rill, conscious of Richter at his heels. -The man's constant presence jarred him; yet, he was there by his orders. -He played his torch over the rocket. It was moving into the rill in a -series of jerks. Its tail struck the ashy floor. In another moment it -rested at the bottom of the crevice. They would make it. A wave of -exultation swept him. The biggest problems could be whipped if you just -got aboard and rode them. Well, he'd ridden this one--ridden it through -a night of Stygian blackness and unbelievable cold. Ridden it to -victory despite damnable odds. He felt jubilant. - -But they would have to hurry if they were to get all their supplies and -gear moved from Bandit before the warhead struck. They still had to -cover Red Dog, burying it beneath a thick coat of ash. Would that be -enough? It was designed to protect them from the dangers of meteorite -dust, but would it withstand the rain of hell to come when the warhead -struck? Wearily he pushed the thought from his mind. - -When the others had secured their gear, he gave the signal to return to -Bandit. They struck out, trudging through the blackness in single file, -following a serpentine path between the occasional rills and knolls -scattered between the two ships. Crag swung his arms in an effort to -keep warm. Tiny needles of pain stabbed at his hands and feet, and the -cold in his lungs was an agony. Even in the darkness the path between -the rockets had become a familiar thing. - -Despite the discomfort and weariness he rather liked the long trek -between the rockets. It gave him time to think and plan, a time when -nothing was demanded of him except that he follow a reasonably straight -course. There was no warhead, no East World menace, no Gotch. There was -only the blackness and the solitude of Crater Arzachel. He even liked -the blackness of the lunar night, despite its attendant cold. The mantle -of darkness hid the crater's ugliness, erasing its menacing profile and -softening its features. He turned his eyes skyward as he walked. The -earth was huge, many times the size of the full moon as seen from its -mother planet, yet it seemed fragile, delicate, a pale ethereal wanderer -of the heavens. - -Crag did not think of himself as an imaginative man. Yet when he beheld -the earth something stirred deep within him. The earth became not a -thing of rock and sea water and air, but a living being. He thought of -Earth as _she_. At times she was a ghost treading among the stars, a -waif lost in the immensity of the universe. And at times she was a -wanton woman, walking in solitary splendor, her head high and proud. The -stars were her lovers. Crag walked through the night, head up, wondering -if ever again he would answer her call. - -He had almost reached Bandit when Nagel's voice broke excitedly into his -earphones. - -"Something's wrong with Prochaska!" - -Crag stopped in his tracks, gripped by a sudden fear. - -"What?" - -"He was somewhere ahead of me. I just caught up to him...." - -"What's wrong with him?" Crag snapped irritably. Damn, wouldn't the man -stop beating around the bush? - -"He's collapsed." - -"Coming," Crag said. He hurried back through the darkness, cursing -himself for having let the party get strung out. - -"Too late, Commander." It was Richter's voice. "His suit's deflated. -Must have been a meteorite strike." - -"Stay there," Crag ordered. "Larkwell...?" - -"I'm backtracking too...." - -They were all there when he arrived, gathered around Prochaska's huddled -form. The yellow lights of their torches pinned his body against the -ashy plain. Larkwell, on his knees, was running his hands over the -electronic chief's body. Crag dropped to his side. - -"Here it is!" - -Larkwell's fingers had found the hole, a tiny rip just under the -shoulder. Crag examined it, conscious that something was wrong. It -didn't look like the kind of hole a meteorite would make. It looked, he -thought, like, a small rip. The kind of a rip a knife point might make. -He stared up at Larkwell. The construction boss's eyes met his and he -nodded his head affirmatively. Crag got to his feet and faced the -German. - -"Where were you when this happened?" - -"Ahead of him," Richter answered. "We were strung out. I think I was -next in line behind you." - -Larkwell said softly: "You got here before I did. That would put you -behind me." - -"I was ahead of you when we started." The German contemplated Larkwell -calmly. "I didn't see you pass me." - -Crag turned to Nagel. "Where were you, Gordon?" - -"At the rear, as usual." His voice was bitter. - -"How far was Prochaska ahead of you?" - -"I wouldn't know." He looked away into the blackness, then back to Crag. -"Would you expect me to?" - -Crag debated. Clearly he wasn't getting anywhere with the interrogation. -He looked at Nagel. The man seemed on the verge of collapse. - -"We'll carry Max back. Lend a hand, Richter." His voice turned cold. "I -want to examine that rip in the light." - -The German nodded calmly. - -"Stay together," Crag barked. "No stringing out Larkwell, you lead the -way." - -"Okay." The construction boss started toward Bandit. Nagel fell in at -his heels. Crag and Richter, carrying Prochaska's body between them, -brought up at the rear. - -It took the last of Crag's strength before they managed to get the body -into the space cabin. - -The men were silent while he conducted his examination. He removed the -dead man's space suit, then stripped the clothing from the upper portion -of his body, examining the flesh in the area where the suit had been -punctured. The skin was unmarked. He studied the rip carefully. It was a -clean slit. - -"No meteorite," he said, getting to his feet. His voice was cold, -dangerously low. Larkwell's face was grim. Nagel wore a dazed, almost -uncomprehending expression. Richter looked thoughtful. Crag's face was -an icy mask but his thoughts were chaotic. Fear crept into his mind. -This was the danger Gotch had warned him of. - -Richter? The saboteur? His eyes swung from man to man, coming finally to -rest on the German. While he weighed the problem, one part of his mind -told him a warhead was scorching down from the sides. Time was running -out. He came to a decision. He ordered Larkwell and Richter to strip the -pressure gear from Prochaska's body and carry it down to the plain. - -"Well bury him later--after the warhead." - -"If we're here," Larkwell observed. - -"I have every intention of being here," Crag said evenly. - - - - -CHAPTER 20 - - -The day of the warhead arrived. - -The earth was a thin crescent in the sky whose light no longer paled the -stars. They gleamed, hard and brittle against the purple-black of space, -the reds and yellows and brilliant hot blues of suns lying at -unimaginable distances in the vast box of the universe. Night still -gripped Crater Arzachel with its intolerable cold, but a zodiacal light -in the sky whispered of a lunar dawn to come. Measured against the -incalculable scale of space distances the rocket had but a relative inch -to cross. That inch was almost crossed. The rocket's speed had dropped -to a mere crawl before it entered the moon's gravitational field; then -it had picked up again, moving ever faster toward its rendezvous with -destruction. Now it was storming down into the face of the land. - -They buried Red Dog. Larkwell had improvised a crude scraper made of -metal strips from the interior of Drone Baker to aid in the task. He -attached loops of cable to pull it. Crag, Larkwell and Richter wearily -dragged the scraper across the plain, heaping the ash into piles, while -Nagel handled the easier job of pushing them over the edge of the rill. - -The unevenness of the plain and occasional rock outcroppings made the -work exasperatingly slow. Crag fumed but there was little he could do to -rectify the situation. It took the better part of eight hours before the -rill was filled level with the plain, with only the extreme end of the -tail containing the airlock being left accessible. - -"Won't do a damn bit of good if anything big comes down," Larkwell -observed when they had finished. - -"There's not much chance of a major hit," Crag conjectured. "It's the -small stuff that worries me." - -"Bandit would be just as safe," Larkwell persisted. - -"Perhaps." He turned away from the construction boss. Richter was -swinging his arms and stamping his feet in an effort to keep warm. Nagel -sat dejectedly on a rock, head buried in his arms. Crag felt a momentary -pity for him--a pity tinged with resentment. Nagel was the weak link in -their armor--a threat to their safety. For all practical purposes two -men--he didn't include Richter--were doing the work of three. Yet, he -thought, he couldn't exclude the German. The oxygen and supplies he -consumed were less than those they had obtained from Bandit and Red Dog. -And Richter worked--worked with a calm, relentless purpose--more than -made up for Nagel's inability to shoulder his share. Maybe Richter was a -blessing in disguise. He smiled grimly at the thought. But we're all -shot, he told himself--all damned tired. Someone had to be the first to -cave in. So why not Nagel? - -He looked skyward. The stars reminded him of glittering chunks of ice in -some celestial freezebox. He moved his arms vigorously, conscious of the -bitter cold gnawing at his bones--sharp needles stabbing his arms and -legs. He was cold, yet his body felt clammy. He became conscious of a -dull ache at the nape of his neck. Thought of the warhead stirred him to -action. - -"We gotta fill this baby," he said, speaking to no one in particular. -"Oxygen ... food ... gear. There's not much time left." - -Larkwell snickered. "You can say that again." - -Crag said thinly: "Well make it." He looked sympathetically at Nagel. - -"Come on, Gordon. We gotta move." - -Crag kept the men close together, in single file, with Larkwell leading. -He was followed by Nagel. Crag brought up at the rear. Memory of -Prochaska's fate burned in his mind and he kept his attention riveted on -the men ahead of him. They trudged through the night, slowly; wearily -following the serpentine path toward Bandit. He occasionally flicked on -his torch, splaying it over the column, checking the positions of the -men ahead of him. They rounded the end of a rill, half-circled the base -of a small knoll, winding their way toward Bandit. Overhead Altair -formed a great triangle with Deneb and Vega. Antares gleamed red from -the heart of Scorpius. Off to one side lay Sagittarius, the Archer. He -thought that the giant hollow of Arzachel must be the loneliest spot in -all the universe. He felt numbed, drained of all motion. - -"Commander." - -The single imperative call snapped him to attention. - -"Come quick. Something's wrong with Nagel!" - -Crag leaped ahead, flashing his torch. He saw Richter's form bent over a -recumbent figure while his mind registered the fact that it was the -German's voice he had heard. He leaped to his side, keeping his eyes -pinned on Richter until he saw the man's hands were empty. He knelt by -Nagel--his suit was inflated! Crag breathed easier. He said briefly: -"Exhaustion." - -Richter nodded. An odd rumble sounded in Crag's earphones, rising and -falling. It took him a moment to realize it was Nagel snoring. He rose, -in a secret sweat of mingled relief and apprehension, and looked down at -the recumbent form, thankful they were near Bandit. - -Larkwell grunted, "Gets tougher all the time." - -It took the three of them to get Nagel back to the rocket. Crag -pressurized the cabin and opened the sleeping man's face plate. He -continued to snore, his lips vibrating with each exhalation. While he -slept they gulped down food and freshened up. When they were ready to -start transferring oxygen to Red Dog, Nagel was still out. Crag -hesitated, reluctant to leave him alone. The move could be fatal--if -Nagel were the saboteur. But if it were Larkwell, he might find himself -pitted against two men. The outlook wasn't encouraging. He cast one more -glance at the recumbent figure and made up his mind. - -"He'll be out for a long time," Larkwell commented, as if reading his -mind. - -"Yeah." Crag replaced Nagel's oxygen cylinder with a fresh one, closed -his face plate and opened the pressure valve on his suit He waited until -the others were ready and depressurized the cabin. He climbed down the -ladder thinking he would have to return before the oxygen in Nagel's -cylinder was exhausted. - -Each man carried three cylinders. When they reached Red Dog, Larkwell -scrambled down into the rill and moved the oxygen cylinders, which Crag -and Richter lowered, into the rocket through the new airlock. They -increased the load to four cylinders each on the following trip, a -decision Crag regretted long before they reached Red Dog. It was a -nightmarish, body-breaking trek that left him staggering with sheer -fatigue. He marveled at Larkwell and Richter. Both were small men -physically. Small but tough, he thought. Tough and durable. - -Nagel was awake, waiting for them when they returned for another load. -He greeted them with a slightly sheepish look. "Guess I caved in." - -"That you did," Crag affirmed. "Not that I can blame you. I'm just about -at that point myself." - -Nagel spoke listlessly. "Alpine sent a message." - -"Oh?" Crag waited expectantly. - -"Colonel Gotch. He said the latest figures indicated the rocket would -strike south of Alphons at 1350 hours." - -South of Alphons? How far south? It would be close, Crag thought Maybe -too close. Maybe by south of Alphons Gotch meant Arzachel. Well, in that -case his worries would be over. He looked at the master chrono. Time for -two more trips--if they hurried. - - * * * * * - -They were making their last trip to Bandit. - -Larkwell led the way with Crag bringing up the rear. They trudged -slowly, tiredly, haunted by the shortness of time, yet they had pushed -themselves to their limit. They simply couldn't move faster. - -Strange, Crag thought, there's a rocket in the sky--a warhead, a nuclear -bomb hurtling down from the vastness of space--slanting in on its target -The target: Adam Crag and crew. If we survive this ... what next? The -question haunted him. How much could they take? Specifically, how much -could _he_ take? He shook the mood off. He'd take what he had to take. - -He thought: _One more load and we'll hole up._ The prospect of ending -their toil perked up his spirits. During the time of the bomb they'd -sleep--sleep. Sleep and eat and rest and sleep some more. - -Halfway to Bandit he suddenly sensed something wrong. Richter's form, -ahead, was a black shadow. Beyond him, Nagel was a blob of movement. He -flicked his torch on, shooting its beams into the darkness beyond the -oxygen man. Larkwell--there was no sign of Larkwell. He quickened his -pace, weaving the light back and forth on both sides of their path. - -"Larkwell?" His voice was imperative. - -No answer. - -"Larkwell?" Silence mocked him. Richter stopped short. Nagel turned, -coming toward him in the night. - -"Where's Larkwell?" - -"He was ahead of me." It was Nagel. - -Richter shrugged. "Can't see that far ahead." - -Crag's thoughts came in a jumbled train. Had Larkwell been hit by a -meteorite? No, they would have seen him fall. - -"Must have drawn ahead," Richter observed quietly. There was something -in his voice that disturbed Crag. - -"Why doesn't he answer?" Nagel cut in. "Why? why?" - -"Larkwell! Larkwell, answer me!" Silence. A great silence. A suspicion -struck his mind. Crag caught his breath, horrified at the thought. - -"Let's get moving--fast." He struck out in the direction of Bandit, -forcing his tired legs into a trot. His boots struck against the plain, -shooting needles of pain up his legs. His body grew sweaty and clammy, -hot and cold by turn. A chill foreboding gripped him. He tried to light -the way with his torch. The rocks made elusive shadows--shadows that -danced, receded, grew and shortened by turn, until he couldn't -discriminate between shadow and rock. He stumbled--fell heavily--holding -his breath fearfully until he was re-assured his suit hadn't ripped. -After that he slowed his pace, moving more carefully. His torch was a -yellow eye preceding him across the plain. - -Bandit rose before him, jutting against the stars, an ominous black -shadow. He moved his light, playing it over the plain. Larkwell--where -was Larkwell? The yellow beam caressed the rocket, wandering over its -base. - -Something was wrong--dreadfully wrong. It took him an instant to realize -that the rope ladder had vanished. He swung the torch upward. Its yellow -beams framed Larkwell's body against the hatch. - -"Larkwell." Crag called imperiously. - -The figure in the hatch didn't move. Richter came up and stood beside -him. Crag cast a helpless glance at him. The German was silent, -motionless, his face turned upward toward the space cabin as if he were -lost in contemplation. Crag called again, anger in his voice. There was -a moment of silence before a voice tinkled in his earphones. - -"Larkwell? There's no Larkwell here." The words were spoken slowly, -tauntingly. - -Crag snapped wrathfully: "This is no time to be joking. Toss that ladder -down and make it quick." The silence mocked him for a long moment before -Larkwell answered. - -"I'm not joking, Mister Crag." He emphasized the word _Mister_. "There -is no Larkwell. At least, not here." - -A fearful premonition came to Crag. He turned toward Richter. The German -hadn't moved. He touched his arm and began edging back until he was well -clear of the base of the rocket. Nagel stood off to one side, seeming -helpless and forlorn in the drama being enacted. Crag marshaled his -thoughts. - -"Larkwell?" - -"My name is Malin ... if it interest you, Mister Crag. Igor Malin." The -words were spoken in a jeer. - -Crag felt the anger well inside him. All the pent-up emotion he had -suppressed since leaving earth boiled volcanically until his body shook -like a leaf. The scar on his face tingled, burned, and he involuntarily -reached to rub it before remembering his helmet. He waited until the -first tremors had passed, then spoke, trying to keep his voice calm. - -"You're disturbed, Larkwell. You don't know what you're doing." - -"No? You think not?" - -Crag bit his lip vexedly. He spoke again: - -"So, you're our saboteur?" - -"Call me that, if you wish." - -"And a damned traitor!" - -"Not a traitor, Mister Crag. To the contrary, I have been very faithful -to my country." - -"You're a traitor," Crag stated coldly. - -"Come, be reasonable. A traitor is one who betrays his country. You work -for your side ... I work for mine. It's as simple as that." He spoke -languidly but Crag knew he was laughing at him. He made an effort to -control his his temper. - -"You were born in the United States," Crag pursued. - -"Wrong again." - -"Raised in the Maple Hill Orphanage. I have your personnel record." - -"Ah, that _was_ your Martin Larkwell." The voice taunted. "But I became -Martin Larkwell one sunny day in Buenos Aires. Part of, shall we say, a -well planned tactic? No, I am not your Martin Larkwell, Mister Crag. And -I'm happy enough to be able to shed his miserable identity." - -"What do you expect to gain?" Crag asked. He kept his voice reasonable, -hedging for time. - -"Come, now, Mister Crag, you know the stakes. The moon goes to the -country whose living representative is based here when the U.N. makes -its decision--which should be soon. Note that I said _living_." - -"Most of the supplies are in Red Dog," Crag pointed out. - -"There's enough here for one man." The voice was maddeningly bland in -Crag's earphones. - -"You won't live through the rockstorm," Crag promised savagely. - -"The chances of a direct hit are pretty remote. You said that yourself." - -"Maybe...." - -"That's good enough for me." - -"Damn you, Larkwell, you can't do this. Throw that ladder down." It was -Nagel. Again the scream came over the earphones: "Throw it down, I say." - -"You've made a mistake," Crag cut in calmly. "We can survive. There's -enough oxygen in Red Dog." - -"I opened each cylinder you handed down," the man in the hatch stated -matter-of-factly. "In fact, I opened all of the cylinders in Red Dog. -Sorry, Mister Crag, but the oxygen's all gone. Soon you'll follow -Prochaska." - -"You did that?" Crag's voice was a savage growl. - -"This is war, Mister Crag. Prochaska was an enemy." He spoke almost -conversationally. Crag had the feeling that everyone was crazy. It was a -fantastic mixed-up dream, a nightmare. Soon he'd awaken.... - -"Coward!" Nagel screamed. "Coward--damned coward!" - -The figure in the hatch vanished into the rocket. He's armed! Crag's -mind seized on die knowledge that two automatic rifles were still in -Bandit. He ordered the men back, alarmed. Nagel stood his ground -screaming maledictions. - -"Come back, Gordon," Crag snapped. - -Malin reappeared a few seconds later holding a rifle. Crag snapped his -torch off, leaving the plain in darkness. - -"Move back," he ordered again. - -"I won't. I'm going to get into that rocket," Nagel babbled. He lunged -forward and was lost in the darkness before Crag could stop him. - -"Nagel, get back here! That's an order." - -"I won't ... I won't!" His scream was painful in Crag's ears. - -A yellow beam flashed down from the hatch and ran over the ground at the -base of the rocket. It stopped, pinning Nagel in a circle of light. His -face was turned up. He was cursing wildly, violently. - -"Nagel!" Crag shouted a warning. Nagel shook his fist toward the hatch -still screaming. Flame spurted from the black rectangle and he fell, -crumpled on the plain. - -"Move further back," Richter said quietly. - -Crag stood indecisively. - -Richter spoke more imperatively. "He's gone. Move back--while you can." - -"Happy dreams, Mister Crag ... and a long sleep." The hatch closed. - - - - -CHAPTER 21 - - -Nagel was dead. He lay sprawled in the ash, a pitifully small limp -bundle in a deflated suit. He had gotten his wish--he would never see -earth again. _Under the wide and starry sky_ ... Now he was asleep with -his dream. Asleep in the fantastically bizarre world he had come to -love. But the fact still remained: Nagel had been murdered. Murdered in -cold blood. Murdered by the killer of little Max Prochaska. And now the -killer was in command! Crag looked down at the crumpled body, reliving -the scene, feeling it burn in his brain. - -Finally he rose, filled with a terrible cold anger. - -"There's one thing he forgot...." - -"What?" Richter asked. - -"The cylinders in Drone Baker. We didn't move them." - -He looked at his oxygen gauge. Low. Baker lay almost four miles to the -east on a trail seldom used. They had never traversed it by night. -Baker, in fact, had become the forgotten drone. He probed his mind. -There was a spur of intervening rock ... rills ... a twisty trail -threading between lofty pinnacles.... - -"Well have to hurry," Richter urged. - -"Let's move...." - -They started toward the east, walking silently, side by side, their -former relationship forgotten. Crag accepted the fact that their -survival, the success of his mission--Gotch's well-laid plans--could -very well depend upon what Richter did. Or didn't do. He had suddenly -become an integral part in the complex machine labeled STEP ONE. - -They reached the ridge which lay between them and the drone and started -upward, climbing slowly, silently, measuring distance against time in -which time represented life-sustaining oxygen. The climb over the ridge -proved extremely hazardous. Despite their torches they more than once -brushed sharp needles of rock and stumbled over low jagged extrusions. -They were panting heavily before they reached the crest and started down -the opposite side. They reached the plain and Crag checked his oxygen -gauge. The reading alarmed him. He didn't say anything to Richter but -speeded his pace. The German's breath became a hoarse rumble in the -earphones. - -"Stop!" There was consternation in Richter's warning cry. Crag -simultaneously saw the chasm yawning almost at their feet. - -Richter said quietly: "Which way?" - -"Damned if I know." Crag flashed his torch into the rill. It was wide -and deep, a cleft with almost vertical sides. They would have to go -around it. He flashed the light in both directions along the plain. -There was no visible end to the fissure. - -He studied the stars briefly and said, "East is to our right. We'll have -to work along the rill and gamble that it ends soon." - -It did. They rounded its end and resumed their way toward the east. Crag -had to stop several times to get his bearings. The shadows danced before -the torch beams confusing him, causing odd illusions. He fell to -navigating by the stars. It occurred to him that Baker, measured against -the expanse of the plain, would be but a speck of dust. - -Richter's voice broke reflectively into his earphones, "Oxygen's about -gone. Looks like this place is going to wind up a graveyard." - -Crag said stubbornly: "We'll make it." - -"It better be soon...." - -"We should be about there." - -They topped a small rise and dropped back to the plain. The needle of -Drone Baker punctuated the sky--blotted out the stars. Oxygen ... -oxygen. The word was sweet music. He broke into a run, reached its base -and clawed at the ladder leading to its hold. He got inside panting -heavily, conscious of a slightly dizzy feeling, and grabbed the first -cylinder he saw. He hooked it into his suit system before looking down -toward the plain. Richter was not in sight. Filled with alarm he grabbed -another cylinder and hurried down the ladder. His torch picked up -Richter's form near the base of the rocket. He hooked the cylinder into -his suit system and turned the valve, hoping he was in time, then -flashed his torch on the German's face. He seemed to be breathing. Crag -called experimentally into the earphone, without answer. He finally -snapped off the torch to conserve the battery and waited, his mind a -jumble of thoughts. - -"Commander...?" - -"Good. I was scared for a moment." He flashed the torch down. Richter's -eyes were open; he was smiling faintly. - -"Not a bad way to go," he managed to say. "Nice and easy." - -"The only place you're going is Red Dog." - -"I'll be okay in a minute." - -"Sure you will." - -Richter struggled to his feet breathing deeply. "I'm okay." - -"We'd better get some more oxygen--enough to last through the -fireworks," Crag suggested. - -They returned to the drone and procured eight cylinders, lowering them -with a piece of line supplied for the purpose. They climbed down to the -plain, packed the cylinders and started for Red Dog. - -"Going to be close but we'll make it," Crag said, thinking of the -warhead. - -Richter answered confidently: "We'll make it." - -Strange, Crag thought, I wind up fighting with the enemy to keep one of -my own crew from murdering me. Enemy? No, he could no longer brand -Richter an enemy. He felt a pang of regret over the way he'd mistrusted -him. Still, there had been no other course. A thought jolted him. He -spoke casually, aware he might be stepping on Richter's toes: "There's -one thing I don't understand...." - -"What?" - -"Larkwell's an enemy agent...." He hesitated. - -"And...?" - -"Why didn't he attempt to solicit your aid?" Crag finished bluntly. - -"You're a spaceman, Commander, not an intelligence agent." - -"I don't get the connection." - -"An agent trusts no one. And a saboteur is the lone wolf of the agents. -Trust me? Ha! He'd just as soon trust your good Colonel Gotch. No, -Larkwell wouldn't have trusted me. Never." - -Crag was silent. An agent who couldn't trust a soldier of his own -country, even when the chips were down? It was a philosophy he couldn't -understand. As for Larkwell! He vowed he'd live long enough to see him -dead. More, he'd kill him himself. He was planning how he'd accomplish -it when they reached the rill where Red Dog was buried. He switched his -torch on and ran it along the edge of the chasm until he located the -rope ladder leading down to the airlock. - -"You lower 'em and I'll pack 'em." Crag ordered. He descended into the -rill and began moving the cylinders Richter lowered to him. Finished, he -examined the cylinders they had brought earlier. Empty! His lips set in -a thin line as he examined the cylinders which the rocket had brought -from earth. Empty ... all empty. Larkwell had done a thorough job. - -He gritted his teeth. Before he was through he'd ram the empty cylinders -down Larkwell's throat. Yeah, and that wasn't all. He contemplated the -step-by-step procedure. Larkwell would die. Die horribly. He looked -toward the hatch wondering what was detaining Richter. He waited a -moment, then climbed back to the plain. The German was nowhere in sight. - -"Richter?" There was no answer. He checked his interphone to make sure -it was working and called again. Silence. He swept his torch over the -plain. No Richter. The German had vanished ... disappeared into the -black maw of the crater. - -"Richter! Richter, answer me...!" Silence. Apprehension swept him. He -called again, desperately: - -"Richter!" - -"I'm all right, Commander." Richter's voice was low, seeming to have -come from a distance. "You'd better get back into Red Dog." - -"Where are you?" Crag demanded. - -"I have a job to do." - -"Come back." The German didn't answer. Crag was about to start in -pursuit when he realized he didn't have the faintest idea what direction -Richter had taken. He hesitated, baffled and fearful by turn. - -Periodically he called his name without receiving an answer. He fumed, -wondering what the German had in mind. He couldn't get into Bandit and, -besides, he was unarmed. He popped back into Red Dog and looked at the -chrono. If Gotch's figures were right the warhead would strike in four -minutes. He climbed out of the rill. - -"Warhead due in less than four minutes," he called into his mike. - -"Get back into Red Dog, Commander," Richter insisted. - -Crag snapped irritably: "What the hell are you trying to do." - -"Commander, many people have crossed the frontier--from East to West. -Many others have wanted to." - -"I don't get you." - -"I had to come all the way to Arzachel to find my frontier, Commander." - -"Richter, come back," Crag ordered, his voice level. - -"There's nothing you can do. You didn't know it but when I landed here I -crossed the frontier, Commander. I went from East to West, on the moon." - -"Richter...?" - -"Now I am free." - -"I don't know what you're talking about, but you'd better get back -here--and pronto. You'll get massacred if you're on the plain when the -rocket hits." Inwardly he was shaken. "There's not a damn thing you can -do about Larkwell." - -"Ah, but there is. He forgot two things, Commander. The oxygen in Baker -was only the first." - -"And the second?" - -Richter did not answer. - -Crag called again. No answer. He waited, uncertain what to do next. - -The ground twisted violently under his feet. The warhead! A series of -diminishing quakes rolled the plain in sharp jolts. Missed Arzachel, he -thought jubilantly. It missed ... missed. He twisted his head upward. -The sky was black, black, a great black spread that reached to infinity, -broken only by the brilliance of the stars. Off to one side Betelgeuse -was a baleful red eye in the shoulder of Orion. - -A picture of what was happening flashed through his mind. Somewhere -between Alphons and Arzachel thousands of tons of rock were hurtling -upward in great ballistic trajectories, parabolic courses which would -bring them crashing back onto the lunar surface. Many would escape, -would hurtle through space until infinity ended. Some would be caught in -the gravisphere of planets, would crash down into strange worlds. But -most would smash back on the moon. Rocks ranging in size from grains of -dust to giants capable of smashing skyscrapers would fall like rain. - -"Richter! Richter!" He repeated the call several times. No answer. He -swept his torch futilely over the plain. Richter was a dedicated man. If -the coming rain of death held any fears for him he failed to show it. He -looked up again, fancying that he saw movement against the stars. -Somewhere up there mountains were hurtling through the void. He -hurriedly descended into the rill, hesitated, then moved into the -rocket. He again hesitated before leaving the airlock open. Richter -might return. - -After a while he felt the first thud, a jolt that shook the rocket and -traveled through his body like a wave. The floor danced under his feet. -He held his breath expectantly, suppressing an instant of panic. The -rocket vibrated several times but none of the jolts was as severe as the -first. He waited, aware of the stillness, a silence so deep it was like -a great thunder. The big stuff must all be down. The thought bolstered -his courage. The idea of being squashed like a bug was not appealing. He -waited, wondering if Richter had survived. He thought of Larkwell and -involuntarily clenched his fists. Larkwell, or Igor Malin--if he -lived--would be his first order of business. He remembered Nagel and -Prochaska and began planning how he would kill the man in Bandit. He -waited a while longer. The absolute silence grated his ears. Now, he -thought. - -He slipped on a fresh oxygen cylinder, and hooked a spare into his belt, -then pawed through the supplies until he found fresh batteries for his -torch. Finally he got one of the automatic rifles from Red Dog's -arsenal. After that he climbed up to the plain. He called Richter's name -several times over the phones, with little hope of answer. He looked at -the sky, then swept his torch over the moonscape. A feeling of solitude -assailed him. For the first time since leaving earth he was totally -alone. - -The last time he had experienced such a feeling was when he'd pushed an -experimental rocket ship almost to the edge of space. He shook off the -feeling and debated what to do. Richter undoubtedly was dead. Had -Larkwell--or was it Malin?--survived the rock storm? Spurred to action, -he turned toward Bandit. Nothing seemed changed, he thought, or almost -nothing. Here and there the smooth ash was pitted. Once he came to a -jagged rock which lay almost astride his path. He was sure it hadn't -been there before. - -He moved more cautiously as he drew near Bandit, remembering that the -occupant of the rocket was armed. He climbed a familiar knoll, searching -the plain ahead with his torch. He stopped, puzzled, flashing the light -to check his bearings. Satisfied he was on the right knoll he played the -light ahead again while moving down to the plain. He walked slowly -forward. Once he dropped to the ground to see if he could discern the -bulk of Bandit against the stars. Finally he walked faster, sweeping the -torch over the plain in wide arcs. Suddenly he stopped. Gone! Bandit was -gone! It couldn't be. It might be demolished, smashed flat, but it -couldn't disappear. He wondered if he were having hallucinations. No, he -was sane ... completely sane. He began calling Richter's name. The -silence mocked him. Finally he turned back toward Red Dog. - -Crag slept. He slept with the airlock closed and the cabin flooded with -oxygen. He slept the sleep of the dead, a luxurious sleep without -thought or dream. When he awakened, he ate and donned the pressure suit, -thinking he would have to get more oxygen from the drone. He opened the -hatch and scrambled out. The plain was light. The sun was an intolerable -circle hanging at the very edge of the horizon. He blinked his eyes to -get them used to the glare. - -He studied the plain for a long time, then hefted the rifle and started -toward Bandit before he remembered there was no Bandit. No Bandit? When -he reached the top of the knoll, he knew he was right. Bandit -unaccountably was gone. He searched the area in wide circles. The -question grew in his mind. He found several twisted pieces of metal--a -jagged piece of engine. Abruptly he found Richter. - -He was dead. His suit hung limp, airless against his body. He stared at -the object next to Richter. It was a moment before he recognized it as -the rocket launcher. - -"_He forgot two things, Commander...._" - -Now he understood Richter's words. Now he knew the motive that had -driven him onto the plain in the face of the rock storm. Richter had -used the launcher to destroy Bandit, to destroy the murderer of -Prochaska and Nagel. He marveled that Richter could have carried the -heavy weapon. Once, before, he had watched two men struggle under its -weight Richter must have mustered every ounce of his strength. - -He looked at the fallen form for a long time. Richter had crossed his -frontier. At last he turned and started toward Red Dog. Adam Crag, the -Man in the Moon. Now he was really the Man in the Moon. The only Man. -Colonel Crag, Commanding Officer, Pickering Field. General Crag of the -First Moon expeditionary Force. Adam Crag, Emperor of Luna. He -laughed--a mirthless laugh. Damned if he couldn't be anything he wanted -to be--on the Moon. - - * * * * * - -The sun climbed above the rim of Arzachel transforming the vast -depressed interior of the crater into a caldron of heat and glare. In -the morning of the lunar day the rock structures rising from the plain -cast lengthy black shadows over the ashy floor--a mosaic in black and -white. Crag kept busy. He stripped the drones of their scant amount of -usable supplies--mainly oxygen cylinders from Baker--and set up a new -communication post in Red Dog. In the first hours of the new morning -Gotch named the saboteur. Crag listened, wearily. Just then he wasn't -interested in the fact that an alert intelligence agent had doubted that -a man of 5' 5" could have been a star basketball player, as the -Superintendent of the Maple Hill Orphanage had said. He expressed his -feelings by shutting off the communicator in the middle of the Colonel's -explanation. - -The sun climbed, slowly, until it hung overhead, ending a morning which -had lasted seven earth days in length. At midday the shadows had all but -vanished. He finished marking the last of three crosses and stepped back -to survey his work. He read the names at the head of the mounds: Max -Prochaska, Gordon Nagel, Otto Richter. Each was followed by a date. Out -on the plain were other graves, those of the crewmen of Bandit and Red -Dog. He had marked each mound with a small pile of stones. Later it -struck him that someday there might be peace. Someday, someone might -want to look at one of those piles of stone. He returned and added a -notation to each. - - * * * * * - -The sun moved imperceptibly across the sky. It seemed to hover above the -horizon for a long while before slipping beyond the rim. Night seemed -eternal. Crag worked and slept and waited. He measured his oxygen, -rationed his food, and planned. He was tough. He'd survive. If only to -read Gotch off, he promised himself savagely. - -The sun came up again. In time it set. Rose and set. - -Crag waited. - - * * * * * - -He watched the silvery ship let down. It backed down slowly, gracefully, -coming to rest on the ashy plain with scarcely a jar. Somehow he didn't -feel jubilant. He waited, gravely, watching the figures that came from -the ship. He wasn't surprised that the first one was Colonel Michael -Gotch. - - * * * * * - -Later they gathered in the small crew room of the Astronaut, the name of -the first atom-powered spaceship. They waited solemnly--Gotch and Crag, -the pilot, and two crewmen--waiting for the thin man to speak. Just now -he was sitting at the small pulldown chow table peering at some papers, -records of the moon expedition. Finally he looked up. - -"It seems to me that your Nation's claim to the Moon is justified," he -said. The words were fateful. The thin man's name was Fredrick Gunter. -He was also Secretary-General of the United Nations. - - * * * * * - - Jeff Sutton, although experienced in journalistic and technical - writings, has only recently turned his hand to novels with the - result that _First on the Moon_ is also his first novel. A native - Californian, and a Marine veteran, he is presently employed as a - research engineer for Convair-San Diego, specializing appropriately - enough for this novel in problems of high altitude survival. He says - of himself: - - "I have long been a science-fiction reader (a common ailment among - scientists and engineers). On the personal side, a number of factors - have coalesced to pin me to the typewriter. I am living in--and - working in--a world of missiles, rockets, and far-reaching dreams. - In many areas the border between science-fiction and science - suddenly has become a lace curtain. It is a world I have some - acquaintance with--and fits very nicely into my desire to write." - - * * * * * - - SCIENCE-FICTION AT ITS BEST - - Luna Was The Goal, Earth The Prize - - It was a top secret, and yet the enemy knew. They knew that the - Americans were about to send a manned rocket to the moon and - thereby claim it for Old Glory. They knew also that whoever held - the moon would command the Earth ... and they were determined to - stop us at all costs! - - When assassination and sabotage failed to stop the take-off, they'd - have to use even more drastic measures. There might be an H-bomb - loaded rocket missile, there could be a Red spaceship with a - suicide crew, and there was always the possibility of their placing - a spy aboard the U.S. rocket. - - FIRST ON THE MOON is a thrilling adventure of the very near future. - Written with up-to-the-minute accuracy by a professional aviation - research engineer, it is a top-notch novel that is science-fiction - only by the thinnest margin! - - AN ACE BOOK - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of First on the Moon, by Jeff Sutton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRST ON THE MOON *** - -***** This file should be named 43235-8.txt or 43235-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/2/3/43235/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: First on the Moon - -Author: Jeff Sutton - -Release Date: July 17, 2013 [EBook #43235] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRST ON THE MOON *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43235 ***</div> <div class="figcenter"> <img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> @@ -228,7 +191,7 @@ New York 36, N.Y.</p> <p class="center">FIRST ON THE MOON</p> -<p class="center">Copyright ©, 1958, by Ace Books, Inc.</p> +<p class="center">Copyright ©, 1958, by Ace Books, Inc.</p> <p class="center">All Rights Reserved</p> @@ -6166,7 +6129,7 @@ held down his voice.</p> <p>"About time," he said laconically.</p> -<p>"Don't give me that blasé crap," the Colonel said cheerfully. "I know +<p>"Don't give me that blasé crap," the Colonel said cheerfully. "I know exactly how you feel." He informed him that the enemy was proclaiming to the world they had established a colony on the moon, and had formally requested the United Nations to recognize their sovereignty over the @@ -7399,381 +7362,6 @@ only by the thinnest margin!</p></blockquote> <h3>AN ACE BOOK</h3> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of First on the Moon, by Jeff Sutton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRST ON THE MOON *** - -***** This file should be named 43235-h.htm or 43235-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/2/3/43235/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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