"I was an orphan of World War II," said Piotr Ivanovitch Kareff in a quiet voice, speaking precise English with a fair fluency. "My family were all vanished, I know not what happened to them. I was brought back to Russia by our soldiers and sent to a state school in the Urals set up to take care of such as myself.
"There I was a good scholar and I made myself good marks. When I was old enough, I qualified for study at a higher institute and was sent to a college for engineers. I was always interested in astronomy and rocket aviation and I was therefore trained along those lines.
"When I was eighteen, I was allowed to continue my engineering education as a part of my military duty. I was in the army, yet still studying, only this time I was stationed at one of the big experimental centers we have deep in Siberia. You probably do not know about them. They are very secret.
"The one I was at was located near the shores of Lake Baikal, the big inland sea in Central Asia near Mongolia. This was the biggest center for the study of liquid-fuel rockets. While I learned the theory, I also worked on the actual projects and helped fire many of our big rockets. These were designed after the German V-_2, the same designs you Americans are also building on. We, too, had captured German scientists who had worked on these. They had much to show us, and one of the smartest of these men was the Captain Von Borck who even became a member of the party or so he said.
"I am not a political man, I am really interested in rockets, so I did not pay too much attention to these things. Von Borck may be truly believing what he desires, I do not know, but I think he is just what you call an opportunity seeker.
"After my army service, I chose to remain at the Lake Baikal station as a regular engineer. I worked on the thousand-mile rockets, and finally on the satellite rockets, and I helped get them up there. It was a nice race with you Americans. We knew a little of your plans—those you publish in the papers—and we always were urged to beat you. Sometimes we did. Sometimes you beat us.
"At our centers we made a game of this. It was serious to our country, but to us, men of science, all discoveries by human beings are great things. We liked to think of our work as a great game of mental chess with you Americans—with the pieces on the board carefully hidden from sight and reported only through guesswork and bad witnesses.
"When the satellites were up and flying their orbits around the Earth, yours and ours, the next game was obviously to race for the Moon. Should we plant the Red flag there, or you the Stars and Stripes? So we worked at that. We did not this time know what you were doing. Maybe you had different ideas.
"So Van Borck discovered a means of using atomic explosions in a steady rocket stream and explained the principle. We worked on this motor a while and finally the Ministry ordered the building of one rocket which could fly to the Moon with this super-powerful engine. At first our commander at the base said it should be a robot-piloted model, but Moscow did not want that. They wanted that men should go on that first trip. They wanted that a Soviet man should be first to reach the Moon.
"They did not know about you, Robin, and your stowaway trip! Ha! But even the Americans do not apparently know about you, alas for both of us!"
Piotr stopped a moment, got to his feet, went to the door of the cave and listened. He came back. "No one there watching us. I go on," he said.
"So finally was built a big rocket with the first atomic explosive engine. Von Borck himself was going to go in it as its engineer. But Von Borck was not really a Soviet man, and I do not think Moscow was happy about it. So they allowed for the ship to have a three-man crew. I was selected, because I am young and quick and have a good record, and also maybe because I have no family to be sorry I not come back maybe. Arkady Pavlovitch Zverin was the third, who was also an orphan.
"Came a day when the big rocket was complete and ready. We said good-by to our friends and at the right time we went up the ladder and into our big rocket. That day, which seems to me so long ago, must have been not even a week ago yet!
"We took off perfectly, we blasted for ten minutes—I thought my head would burst—and we were on our way. Von Borck piloted it, but there was really little to do. When it came time to reverse the rockets and make our landing, we had trouble. Our gyroscope control was stuck and we had to fight with it by hand to move it. This made a delay and when we did get our jets reversed and working, our timing was off. Von Borck struggled to slow us up and come to a real stop, but we were a little too fast. We came down blasting away, and we hit very hard.
"The rocket was partly smashed. The engines and tubes all crushed. The nose was badly jarred and poor Arkady was killed by the impact. Von Borck, too, was thrown from his seat, knocked unconscious on the floor of our little cabin. I was badly bruised, but I remained conscious.
"Fortunately for us, the little cabin remained airtight. When all was still, I looked over what happened. I looked outside. We were in a large crater, whose bottom was crisscrossed with cracks. One of these, running into the distance, was quite glassy and I saw that something like steam was issuing from a point near it. This meant to me that somewhere underneath the surface there might be a place with air and water.
"I had at first thought all was lost and I would remain in the little cabin until the air was used up or the food gave out. This would be only a few days. But I thought that any chance, however little, was better than no chance. So I managed to get to the locker and get out two space suits. One I put on Von Borck who was still unconscious, but whom I could not leave behind. The other I got into myself.
"I took the German over my shoulder and managed to get out of the ship through the lock which was still intact. Carrying my companion—it was easy, he was so light on the Moon—I explored the cracks near where the ship fell. I found a way leading down and even a series of very natural air locks—a most unusual development.
"Passing through many caves and tunnels I made my way and finally got to this one. Von Borck had regained consciousness but he was not in his right senses. He was talking nonsense. He believed—I do not know how to put it—he was the King of the Trolls. He thought he was somewhere in—fairyland or hell or some supernatural place. He did not remember the trip.
"When we first met these Moon people—you call them Glassies—Von Borck said they were his Trolls. He killed four of them with his own hands and the rest became afraid of him, thought him a god or demon come to rule them. He let me alone a little while, then he seized me, tied me up himself, and put me here.
"I am afraid that he plans to sacrifice us. He is completely crazy and he has these Glassies obeying him. I am sorry for us."
Piotr stopped talking. He looked at Korree appraisingly. Robin understood his intention. "I'm afraid that Korree won't have any influence with these Glassies. They are a different tribe."
Robin rubbed his hands a bit. "I really think we should be able to escape, even so. We now outnumber Von Borck two to one and I think if we pick our time we could manage to make a getaway. We'll have to be careful. Do you think you could get back to your rocket on the surface?"
The Russian nodded. "I guess we could. I was planning to go back from the start."
"Is there anything there we could use to signal the Earth with?" asked Robin. "A radio, flares, mirrors?"
Piotr nodded. "We had speaker-radio equipment, but it was smashed in the landing. It was the first thing I tried after we hit. But we do have flares. We could signal with them."
"I imagine," said Robin, "that both the Americans and Russians must be working on Moon rockets now. If we can signal back there, the next rocket along might come to this crater and find us."
"Good," said the Russian rocketeer. "Only how do we get to the surface? I have a space suit, which is probably in Von Borck's cave. Von Borck must have a suit too, if we can find it, though I think it will be much too big for you."
Robin explained about his homemade space suit. Piotr was quite impressed. The suit which was packed in Robin's big sack was in the prison cave where it had been thrown and they unpacked it. Piotr examined the helmet with interest. "Very good. It might work. It seems airtight."
"I tested it under water," said Robin. "It didn't leak any bubbles."
The Russian nodded. "But I don't believe your big bag of air would work. How would you blow it up in the first place? I think you would have had a hard time anyway. But fortunately there are three oxygen tanks on my own suit. I can detach one for your use."
He nodded, looking over the homemade helmet. In the half light of the cave Robin looked at his new friend with interest. There was something about his face which struck an odd chord in Robin's mind. Something about him brought back faint, almost forgotten memories, dim frightening memories of bombs exploding, of falling buildings, of a frightened child, and great loss.
Robin suddenly asked, "How did you learn to speak English so well?"
Piotr looked up. "I was wondering when you would ask that. I always knew English, I spoke it as a little child. When I was found by the soldiers in Dresden, I was but a little boy, maybe six or seven. I spoke some German, but mostly I spoke English. They could find no sign of my parents, my family, so they took me back to Russia with them. I studied English too in school, but I always knew it."
Robin started, his heart pounding very strangely. "Where did you get your name? That's Russian."
The other stared at him hard. "No, it's not. My name—Piotr Ivanovitch Kareff—means Peter the son of John Kareff."
Robin was sure he knew now, but he doggedly insisted on his next question. "My father's name was also John. John Carew. And how do you spell your last name?"
"Why," said Peter, a curious smile beginning to force its way to his lips, "just like it's pronounced in Russia—Kareff—C-A-R-E-W—Kareff."
And at the same instant, tears of joy sprang uncontrollably to their eyes and the two brothers grabbed each other, laughing and pounding one another's back in wild reunion.
Korree stared uncomprehendingly at the curious sight of two Earth men apparently taken leave of their senses.
After they had recovered from their outburst of enthusiasm the two let go of each other and sat down out of breath. "Well, this is really amazing," said Robin finally. "Here I have to go to the Moon to find my brother. You know I really do not remember very much."
"Of course not. You could not have been more than four years old when we parted. I was about three years older, I guess. Perhaps we can put what we do know together and find out what did happen. I know that Father and Mother were interned in Germany by the Nazis. That when the war was nearing its end, the Germans started to move them and other prisoners around. In the confusion, we were stranded somewhere and there was heavy bombardment going on. I lost you and Mom and Dad somewhere, wandered by myself for many days. I was with a band of Russian people who had been taken to Germany by the Nazis to do slave labor. They were making their way back to their homes and I clung to them. So the Soviet Army simply counted me among its own orphans and took me back. But maybe you know more about our family?" Peter looked expectantly at his younger brother.
Robin nodded. "I don't remember what happened. I was too young. I only remember being terribly frightened and alone and things going bang. When I was older I looked up the orphanage records. It seems that Dad had been some sort of business agent in Germany and when the U.S. got into the war he was interned along with Mom and the two of us. Evidently they were killed in some sort of bombardment at the war's end and I was the only one who survived. You are listed as having been killed with them, according to the American Army report."
Korree was moving restlessly during this conversation, not understanding very much of it. Now he pulled at Robin's sleeve, pointed. "Look. Cheeky come."
Sure enough Robin's simian pet had finally found them. Evidently having easily avoided capture by the Glassies, the little animal had been searching for his master. Now his little head appeared around the edge of the big rock that sealed their cave. At a whistle from Robin, Cheeky pushed his way through the narrow gap and scampered to his friend.
Peter watched the monkey with interest. "I wonder if we can't make use of your pet to help us get out of here," he said. "We really ought to start thinking of escape. I don't know when Von Borck will take the notion to start something bad."
"Well, let's start planning it out," said Robin. "First, we ought to see what we have to work with. I think that the Glassies simply threw everything I had with me in here too. That should make things fairly simple. What did they have of yours?"
They went over to the pile of things, with Korree along to light the way, and examined it. Everything was present. Of Peter's property, his space suit was there, intact, with its three shoulder oxygen tanks. Robin picked up a gun belt that had evidently been part of the outfit, but the holster was empty. Peter commented, "Von Borck took it when he turned on me. He is armed also."
But Robin noticed that the German rocket pilot had evidently not thought to take the pack of additional pistol ammunition that was clipped to the belt. He withdrew a clip and turned it over, then said:
"We should be able to use these to start a diversion of some sort. If we can get their attention elsewhere, we can easily push aside the rock that seals our cave and make a run for it. We ought not to wait for Von Borck to make up his mind."
"Ah yes," said his brother. "There is good gunpowder in those bullets. We could make a small bomb for a fuse or a display."
"I think a bomb will do the trick. Let's get at it." Robin suited his action to the words. He sat down, spread a clean piece of cloth he found among Peter's property on the floor and began to pull the cartridges apart and gently shake out the powder.
Back on Earth, such a job would have been hard without instruments and great force. Here on the Moon, it was not easy but their strength enabled them to twist off the metal rims. Soon they had a neat little pile of explosive powder gathered together.
This they packed into a small glass tube among Peter's explorational equipment until it was tight and filled the space. They twisted a dry fiber until it was cordlike and rolled it in a little remaining powder till it was thoroughly blackened. This they inserted in the end of the tube as a fuse.
"Now we should get our stuff together and get ready," said Robin. "I don't think it would be a good idea to go back the way I came in; we'd just be cutting ourselves off. The idea is to reach your rocket on the surface. Which way did you come?"
Peter indicated the opposite direction. "I came in through a hole rather high in the wall, came down here along a narrow ledge. I can find it again, I think."
"Then let's get into our equipment and get ready," said Robin. He began to load his huge pack again, but Peter intervened.
"You really can leave some of that behind now," he said. "Make it easier to move fast. Besides we've got some narrow places to squeeze through on our way to the surface. I'd suggest leaving most of the food behind. Take enough for a couple of meals more. You'll only need your space helmet and space clothes."
Peter was climbing into his space suit, an airtight rubberized affair with electric heating grids. This on, he put on his space helmet for the sake of convenience, though he left the little panel of the face window open. Robin slung his own helmet from his shoulder—its vision plate, being homemade, was fixed in place.
When they were ready, they went over to the entrance and peeked through the narrow, open space. "Why, it's dark outside!" said Robin.
Where before the deep cleft had been lighted by the white light of the outside sun, now it was dark. It was not as dark as the bubble-caverns below had been, for a faint light still penetrated down from the ceiling. They could make out the darker shadows of the surrounding growth, and the Glassies outside were moving figures each illuminated by a small circle of light from their head stalks.
"Evidently the sun is going down on the Moon's surface," said Peter. "It was low on the horizon when my rocket arrived. I wonder how cold it will get in this place?"
"It seems to be a little colder already," said Robin. "This may bring Von Borck out of his cave to see what's happening."
Robin called to Korree, explained what they were about to do. Then while Korree kept a hand on Cheeky, the two Earthlings leaned their shoulders against the big boulder and pushed it aside easily—an effort which would have blocked Moon muscles.
Korree had dimmed his headlight and the two men kneeled down and carefully lighted the fuse of their bomb with Robin's flint and steel. The end of the fiber sputtering, Robin took Cheeky and pressed the glass vial into the monkey's paws. "Over there," he whispered to the monkey urgently, and pointed a finger to the darkness opposite the direction in which they would be heading. "Take it over there and leave it," he whispered.
He'd often taught Cheeky to fetch and carry, and he hoped the animal would obey. It did. Grabbing the glass tube with its smoking fuse, the monkey dashed off into the darkness.
"I hope he remembers to drop it and come back," said Robin. Peter nodded. "Let's get started."
The men and Korree started slowly out of the cave. There was a very faint dimness about them, a starlight glow that was just enough to distinguish the presence of objects. They moved slowly, avoiding the telltale lights of passing Glassies. Korree kept his own stalklight dark.
Suddenly the peace and darkness were split by a sharp, violent explosion somewhere behind them. Immediately following was a screeching, recognizable as the sound of an angry monkey and almost as frightening.
For an instant there was stunned silence and then pandemonium broke loose. Glassies came running in all directions, slamming into each other, not knowing what had happened. Some were running away from the noise, some were running to investigate the terrible bang, and others were simply running for cover in the caves. In the mad helter-skelter, Robin and Peter and Korree ran as fast as they could to the far end of the cleft.
They dodged tree stalks, pushed through other patches, stumbled occasionally over obstacles, but carried on. Robin noticed even as he ran that the vegetation was already drying up and dying rapidly. The cessation of sunlight had probably been quite abrupt as the sun had sunk behind whatever crater walls made up the horizon above them. Evidently the growth here was geared to a short, heavy life and sudden death.
Over the frightened, high-pitched voices of the Glassies, Robin now heard another sound, the roaring voice of a man. Von Borck had been brought out. He was yelling something, shouting angrily.
Peter called to Robin as they dashed along. "He's trying to get them to order. He knows we did it. But they don't understand him."
On they ran. Now behind them they heard some signs of pursuit. Evidently Peter was overoptimistic. Somehow Von Borck must have managed to get the Glassies to realize his meaning. Hitting some and shoving others, he had clearly gotten a few, who were still in awe of his "magic," to follow him. They could hear the sounds of stalks cracking far behind them as they ran. But they had a good head start.
Robin had been hanging on to Korree's arm, dragging him with him in huge, leaping steps. But as they dashed on, he realized that Peter was slowing his own steps to accommodate and that the sounds of Von Borck's rush behind them were beginning to be louder.
Korree evidently realized this too. "Leave me," he gasped. "I make out." With a twist he slipped out of Robin's hand and ran into the darkness.
"Wait!" yelled Robin after him, stopping. But Peter turned back, grabbed his brother. "He's right. He'll be better off here. We couldn't get him to the surface anyway. Come on! Quick!"
With a sudden lurch of his heart and lump in his throat Robin recognized the truth of this. He grabbed Peter's hand and the two of them started off faster than ever, heading for the far wall in huge Earthborn leaps.
It was an eerie experience dashing madly along in the near blackness of the cleft. The faint glow which came from above, probably only the light of a million million faraway stars, filtered through the curious translucent material of the cleft top, serving only to make patches of blackness against patches of even greater blackness. Far behind them a faint flickering indicated the movements of the natives. Now and then a startling flicker would prove the presence of some startled Moonworm, uncovered as a stalk was thrown over in the rush.
Behind them they could hear a crashing and every now and then a shouted word. Robin wondered what was being said, but Peter, sensing his wonder, gasped out, "He's shouting ... the word for devils! When ... he came to ... he believed himself ... in some sort ... of Troll kingdom ... with me ... as a ... devil."
"Crazy! Stark raving mad!" shouted Robin back.
On they went. The helmet banging against Robin's back made him feel clumsy and odd, yet he moved through the air with the agility of a phantom.
Now, suddenly, there loomed a dark wall before them and they caught themselves back just in time to keep from smashing headlong into it. "The wall!" shouted Robin.
Peter pulled his arm, started hurrying along to one side. He gave a sharp cry of relief, pulled Robin to him. "Here we are, the ledge. Go on up!"
Peter started off. Robin followed as fast as was possible. There was evidently a thin ledge running up the side of the cave. In places it was a gentle slope angling upward, in other parts there was a sudden step. In their haste there was no time to pick and choose their steps. Several times Robin tripped, almost falling, but he had built up such a momentum that he simply slammed and banged over the obstacles, charging up the ledge with a luck and agility that would have made a mountain goat jealous.
Behind them, at the base of the cliff, they now heard Von Borck's roaring. "Teufel!" he was calling. Then suddenly from where the madman stood, there beamed out a flash of yellow light. A flashlight, thought Robin, he had a flash.
The beam passed rapidly over the cave wall seeking the escapers. Once or twice they froze against the side as it passed over them, dashing on as soon as it was gone. Then Von Borck's light caught them, held them.
"Keep running," yelled Peter, "it's not far now!"
The two kept up. Then there was a sharp report below them and something wentspangon the rock wall near Robin. A bullet ... the mad rocket pilot was firing at them.
Now they simply raced on, ignoring the German's wild shots. "Here we are!" gasped Peter and seemed to melt right into the cliff face. Robin saw the black opening in the next second and tumbled into it, to be caught by his brother's arms.
For an instant they stood there in the darkness, catching their breath. Then a light appeared in Peter's hand, and Robin saw that he held an electric torch there, part of his space-suit equipment. The beam illuminated a narrow, dark tunnel leading steeply upward apparently through the solid rock.
"This way!" said Peter and started off. Robin followed him on into the narrow path that would lead him at long last to the surface of the Moon.
The tunnel was very narrow, a mere crack in the wall, and Robin was hard put to squeeze through in a couple of spots. But it was not too long and, in a few minutes, Robin felt from the change in air and echo that it had opened out into a wider area.
Peter's flash confirmed this. They were in a small air-pocket bubble several yards wide. They crossed this while Peter searched along the floor. He stopped, pointed down.
"We go down again, through this hole in the floor. There's a short drop of only a few feet, but be careful."
Peter stepped over to the hole, sat down, and eased himself out of sight. Robin looked down, could see the floor of another cave just below. He dropped his pack through and squeezed down.
Here they were in a sort of shallow flaw running lengthwise, and they had to walk in a crouched position to keep their heads from bumping the low ceiling.
Robin wondered how Peter knew which way to go, but looking carefully, he realized that his brother was only following the trail of his footsteps made on arriving—for there was a thin coating of dust on this floor that showed the trail.
"How did you ever find this passage?" asked Robin, his voice echoing flat and high in the passage.
"Saw the sealed cleft top running across the bottom of this crater. Found a spot near it where some sort of gas was hissing out. Went down it, and simply followed every lead that pointed in the direction of the cleft." Robin knew that behind this reply undoubtedly lay a lot of sweat and agony. Peter had made the trip carrying an unconscious body with him!
The low passage ended in a small cave-bubble. A break at the top of this was the next line of direction. Peter had simply dropped down on his arrival, but they waited to catch their breath. They would have to jump for it.
"Do you suppose Von Borck is following us?" asked Robin while waiting.
Peter shook his head. "I doubt it. First, we'd probably have been able to hear him coming. Second, he'd still know enough to go get his space suit before following us. Third, he won't remember anything of this trip and will have to find his way."
Rested, Robin gave Peter a boost, hoisting him as high as he could to the top of the cave-bubble. Peter jumped the short distance remaining, catching a grip on the edge of the hole in the cave ceiling. He pulled himself up, then dropped his nylon cord down for Robin to grasp and help himself up.
Up above there was still another small bubble, broken on one side. A whole series of broken bubbles lay revealed, and they walked along this section gingerly. This area was greatly cracked and seamed. It was clear to them that there was a possibility of a fall-in.
Beyond that group they came to another break leading upward, and again they moved on. Now Robin found himself breathing very heavily. "I'm getting very tired," he gasped at last.
Peter stopped. They were still in the break and a severe slope was rising before them. "It's the air pressure. It's getting quite low already. You've been used to the low pressure of the bubbles below, as you tell me, but we are close to the surface and the limited amount of air sealed in this particular bubble-system is thinning beyond the safety point. We'll have to go slow and rest often. I don't want to have to use our oxygen supplies until we are at the limit of our natural abilities."
Robin finally caught his breath, felt power returning. Now the two pushed on, going very carefully and slowly, with rests every few steps.
The steep rise ended at a narrow opening. Peter paused here, motioned to Robin to join him. "This is the crisis point," he said. "Listen."
Robin strained his ears. He was aware of the pounding of his heart struggling for oxygen. He was aware of a ringing in his ears from the low pressure. But now he heard over that a thin whistling, a high, steady rustling whistle coming from somewhere across the narrow, long cave he was looking in upon.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"A most unusual phenomenon," whispered Peter back. "The only thing that keeps the air in all this subterranean region from being sucked away to the surface. It's a volcanic current of hot gas, racing through this long channel at tremendous speed. It must come up from somewhere in the still-warm interior; it must be rushing to some vast cold spot below. But it serves as an effective curtain cutting off the stale air on this side from the near-vacuum of the surface. Its density, velocity, and heat perform the miracle."
Peter shone the lamp across and down the cave. The passage cleared a long, tunnellike channel which ran down into darkness on one side and away into equal darkness on the other. Only a few yards across from them he could see the gray surface of the wall. There seemed to be nothing else except the whistling noise.
"Edge along the wall here carefully," said Peter, and started off. He kept one shoulder rubbing the wall near them and walked carefully down the passage.
Robin edged out, following him closely. He felt no movement of air, yet he detected a faint trace of warmth on his outer side. Somewhere, invisible to him, that cataract of volcanic air was flowing. Was it a few feet or a fraction of an inch? He could not tell.
The wall bellied wider a little, allowing a chance to get farther away from the unseen wind. Peter was waiting here. "I think we'd better adjust our space equipment now. We have a short way to go, then we'll have to fight our way across that air blast. There's an opening to the surface at one point nearby. Once we cross the wind and get to it, we'll be outside."
Robin let down his pack. Peter examined Robin's equipment again, looking worried. He shook his head once or twice. "I hope it works out all right, but some changes will have to be made."
He took the big bladder Robin had constructed as an air bag. "This won't work, but it will come in handy in a different way." He took Robin's pocket knife and began to cut the big sack apart to make thin long strips of leather. When he had finished with that, he looked over at Robin and said:
"Now you'll have to wind these strips around you as tight as you can. Begin as high up on your chest as possible, and go on down. Wind them around your arms and legs, around your fingers, if possible. Don't undress, but wind the strips over your clothes. Make them tight. I'll help you."
As they worked to do so, Peter explained further. "Having an air helmet is not enough for space. The pressure of your blood and the gases in your system will make it impossible for you to breathe or move, if your body is not tightly encased. A real space suit like mine is pressurized, built with a layer of air pockets all over, which increase their pressure in proportion to the decrease outside. But if you don't have this pressure, even having air around your head will not help. So make those bandages tight, as tight as you can without stopping your breathing completely."
They worked on, winding the leather around and around, until Robin felt as if he were being encased in a strait jacket, felt like a living mummy. Strips were wrapped around his fingers under his gloves, his gloves fitting over them and further strapped.
Next Peter strapped one of his three oxygen tanks to Robin's back. "I hope this will work well enough to keep you breathing until we reach the rocket. Fortunately you made your helmet deep enough to come down far over your shoulders. I can work this air tube up high enough for you to grasp the end in your mouth. The air will force its way into your lungs. You'll have to struggle to force your exhalation out of your nose. It's difficult, especially the first time, but you'll have to cope with it."
As he held the helmet preparatory to putting it over Robin's head, he gave him some last-minute instructions. "We won't be able to communicate once I get this on you. You've no radio and your mouth will be full anyway. So listen carefully.
"The rocket is about a hundred yards away. I'll lead the way, and I'll tie this cord around your waist so you won't lose me. Follow me as close as you can. There's a possibility that your glass plate may fog up or ice over from the water vapor inside your helmet. If it does, hang on to the cord and keep moving after me! But don't stop ... and don't give up! All set?"
Robin's heart was beating fast, he felt strange and stifled in his bindings. This was the zero instant. He nodded, held out his hand. Peter grasped it, shook it. "When you're all set, follow me across the wind stream. It's powerful—don't let it throw you."
Robin put the end of the air tube in his mouth. Peter pushed the homemade helmet down over his head, secured it tightly, almost painfully, until no space was left for air to escape. Then Peter reached behind Robin to the small tank strapped there and turned a petcock.
Instantly Robin started to choke as he felt something being rammed down his lungs. He caught himself, recognizing that his lungs were being forcibly inflated. He struggled to get control of his diaphragm to expel the excess air pressure. He managed finally to do so, feeling a whiff of air rush through his nostrils. He fought a bit more with the unpleasant current, felt himself getting a grip on it.
Through the plate of his helmet he saw Peter watching him anxiously. Then Peter rapidly tied the nylon cord around his own waist, let it out a few feet, and tied the other end around Robin's. Peter snapped shut the visor of his own helmet, touched the air controls of his own suit, and nodding to Robin, stepped out into the tunnel.
Robin followed closely, conscious of the tight, restricting bands, still fighting the unpleasant pressure of the air tube blowing down his lungs. Peter walked a few steps, pointed a gloved hand across the passage, shone his light.
There was a narrow black gap across there. Through it Robin caught a glimpse of bright white specks—the stars!
Then Peter made a dash, seemed to be picked up by a giant hand and whirled wildly across the passage. The cord tightened and Robin jumped into the space to avoid being pulled off his feet.
He was struck at once by a terrific onrush. A hot, violent blast slammed into him. He lost his footing, felt himself being hurled headlong into a furious tornado. The cord leaped out, and Peter pulled on it hard. Robin swung about, fetched up against the other side of the wall of the cave with a bang, was pulled to his feet before he had even started to fall, and was propelled right through the gap in the wall.
Suddenly all was still. The whistling of the wind, the roar of the current as it struck him, had vanished. Only the sucking and rushing of the oxygen in his own helmet could be heard. He was outside, on the surface of the Moon at last!
The gap opened from the wall of a cliff. Above him, the cliff soared to become a mountainous edge of a deep, wide crater. He turned his head, but Peter was impatient. He felt the pull of the cord, turned and followed Peter, who was moving away from the crater wall in long, low strides, strides that ate up distance like an Earthly giant in seven-league boots. Robin adjusted his pace, followed closely.
For a while he forgot his personal danger and simply gazed around at the fabulous moonscape. The crater's other wall was maybe a dozen miles away, but the thin air—the almost indetectably tenuous air that clustered at the bottom of this crater made the distance seem nothing. He could even make out details of the far edge.
And yet this section of the Moon was in the night-time. The sun had passed it by. It should have been dark, pitch-dark, by the logic of the interplanetary space. Yet it wasn't. Everything instead was bathed in a cold greenish-blue light that covered the surface like the glow of a half-dozen full moons.
He looked up. Directly in the center of the sky overhead was the source of the radiation. A great glowing ball of green and blue and white, a ball with a misty aura surrounding it, a globe that struck Robin instantly as familiar. It was the Earth. The home world, seen in all its glory, a giant full-moon Earth, continents and islands clearly outlined, a glory of pale colors, poles agleam with dazzling white ... it was a sight that momentarily stopped Robin in his tracks, hypnotized with wonder.
The cord pulled him out of it, and on he dashed, looking about him in the pale Earthlight.
The surface was thick with cosmic dust, here and there the rounded domelike surface of a congealed volcanic bubble. Cracks crossed and crisscrossed the surface, and Peter and he had to bound across many of them. He saw rising slightly above the surface a long rill of whitish substance, racing across the crater bottom. With a start he realized that that must be the glasslike roof of the great cleft he had so recently escaped from.
Above, the sky was nearly black and myriad stars shone bright from the distance. The outlines of the surrounding mountains walled in the two boys as if they were pygmy boxers in a gargantuan ring.
Robin was forcing the air from his nostrils, allowing the oxygen to rush into his lungs. He began now to feel the first faint chill of surrounding space. He realized that it must already be nearly a hundred and fifty below zero on the surface, probably even much more than that. He had to keep moving, keep moving.
But it was getting colder. He felt the cold penetrate him as his suit radiated the warmth that was in it. Now he wondered what was happening outside. Something was obscuring his view. Was it mist he was passing through?
He had heard of mist on the Moon's surface, but he had seen none when he had first emerged. Yet his vision was being obscured more and more by a cloudiness. He strained his eyes, suddenly realized that the mist was not outside, it was inside! The slight amount of vapor inside his helmet was beginning to frost up on the inside of his face plate. What Peter had feared was beginning to happen.
Robin missed his footing, stumbled, not having seen the little ridge they had passed. Peter, now barely visible ahead of him, had not stopped. Robin felt the cord tighten as he slowed down, uncertain of where his feet were landing.
He began to feel groggy, realized that he was becoming frightened. He gritted his teeth on the unpleasant air tube, said to himself,Get a hold on, stay firm. Only a few more steps to go. Hang on! Hang on!
He conquered his panic. Blind or not, he would keep on until he passed out. The face plate was now solid white, completely opaque. He stumbled on, allowing the tight cord to direct him, pull him.
On and on, the journey seemed endless. Running, jumping, and bouncing, his feet banging against unseen rocks, hitting into cracks, kicking out, flying through space in bounds of blind horror. It was a nightmare such as he'd never dreamed.
Then, as he came down hard and banged into something, he felt his helmet slip a little, jog slightly. There was awhishand suddenly his face plate cleared completely. At the same instant he felt as if his eyes would pop, while something snatched at his nose and sucked the breath from him.
Through the clear plate he caught a wild glimpse of a large metallic structure sticking up out of the ground. The Russian rocket, he thought wildly. It was big like a huge bullet, gleaming brightly and polished. He saw it nearing him, realized he was being dragged along by Peter.
He realized also that his helmet had slipped a gap, that the air within had been sucked out, that the water vapor clogging his face plate had been snatched out with it, and that his face was exposed. But the oxygen tube was still in his mouth, still forcing air into him, and his nostrils were having it sucked out almost as fast. Somehow the thin stream of air rushing from the helmet kept his face from all the rigors of vacuum. His eyes were bulging and paining, he felt his nose spraying blood and a red film kept clogging the face plate and being snatched away by the escaping air.
Then as he realized he could no longer stand the agony, he felt himself grabbed under the shoulders, hoisted up, shoved into a small dark space and felt through his fingers the clang of a metal door. There came a hissing noise, and as consciousness at last oozed away from him, he knew that they had reached the air lock of the Soviet rocket and that his ordeal was over.
The impression of a damp cloth moving gently over his face was Robin's first sensation on recovering his senses. He opened his eyes to find Peter leaning over him, carefully mopping away the soreness from his nose and face. Robin's eyes hurt and he blinked several times, each time feeling their rawness.
"Easy does it," said Peter, smiling. "Your eyes are very bloodshot, but fortunately there's no real damage. You couldn't have been exposed to the outside for more than a few seconds. Nosebleed's stopped, too."
Robin raised his head, feeling a little dizzy and weak at first. He was lying in a hammock slung across the narrow space of the rocket's tiny cabin. He took in the limited quarters slowly, while flexing his muscles to discover other points of sensitivity. His clothing had been removed, the tight bandaging unwrapped. He was wearing some sort of loose aviation coverall that his brother had dressed him in.
"Have I been out long?" Robin asked, rising to a sitting position.
"Maybe a half-hour," said his brother. "Mostly shock and overexertion, I guess. You've got some bruises on your shins and feet, but nothing that should stop you. Feel like some hot food? Real Earth food?"
Robin was suddenly hungry and the memories of a hundred forgotten foods flooded his senses. He nodded, and greedily attacked the full mess kit that his brother had been heating. It contained merely some sort of frankfurter, some canned potato, a chunk of black bread, and a cup of something that must have been condensed cabbage soup ... but to Robin it was the best banquet he'd had in many months. For the first time he ate meat that wasn't rabbit or a Moon creature, vegetable that wasn't Moontree fruit. His tongue reveled in the flavors. A glass of hot tea was the final sensation.
Refreshed, he looked around. The little cabin, occupying the entire nose of the rocket, must have been a tight squeeze indeed for a three-man crew. The controls and the pilot's seat occupied a good section of it. There was space for only two hammocks, which were obviously not to be spread out except when taking off or sleeping, and Peter was rolling up the one in which Robin had been resting. There was a built-in electric grid, a nozzle from which water was piped, a large number of observational and recording instruments, a couple of folding seats, nothing much else. Several thick glass bull's-eye windows were set in a circle around the nose, at a level with the pilot's eyes. Light came from one large electric bulb hanging in the nose of the ship. The whole cabin was tilted over at an angle, the result of the crash.
"I'm surprised that everything is in such good condition," said Robin. "I had expected to see a complete ruin."
"Well," said Peter, "I've got to admit that Von Borck was definitely a good pilot. The crash was probably not his fault. We were actually not supposed to land. Our orders were to try to circle the Moon in a narrow orbit, then return. We were to land only if Von Borck was sure he could do it and get away again.
"What happened though was that after we had crossed the dividing line in space where the Moon's pull equaled the Earth's pull, our gyroscopic controls jammed. Von Borck couldn't turn the rockets in our rear to the indicated direction. We struggled with the gyro for about forty minutes, even going outside to get at the airless tube section beneath this sealed cabin. When we finally got the controls operating, it was far too late to attempt to establish an orbit. Instead, Von Borck did the next best thing—he decided to attempt a direct landing. He reversed the rocket entirely, slowed us down and came down in an effort to land on his jets. It's a very difficult balancing trick, especially on an unknown landing field with uncertain distances.
"Actually he almost succeeded. He came down just a little too fast, smashed up our tubes, rammed the whole rear down into the pumice-and-dust surface, leaving our nose cabin sticking out unharmed. Von Borck slammed his head against the metal paneling. I took a spill, and Arkady who had volunteered to stand at the opposite observation port from the pilot in order to inform him of any dangers from that side was thrown across the room and killed."
Robin nodded slowly. "But why didn't you just stay here instead of going out?"
Peter went to a wall cabin, opened it. Inside there were about a half-dozen small containers and cans. "That's the whole stock of food we have left," was the reply. "We couldn't have stayed here too long. When I looked around outside I saw mist issuing from that spot in the cliff we came through. Obviously we'd die if we didn't find some place to stay. I went outside, buried Arkady, explored a little, realized that that rill out there was a sealed cleft which probably held air. So I loaded Von Borck, who had been unconscious for hours, and set out to go underground."
Robin got up, walked around. He was already in better shape. He looked at the panels, found them complex and with the markings in Russian. "What's the source of the electricity?" he asked.
"There's an atomic pile somewhere in the rear of the rocket," Peter replied. "That's something you don't smash easily. It's still operating."
"Can we send a message back to Earth then?" asked Robin. "If we've the power, and this ship must have a radio...."
"We tried that, but the radio was smashed in the landing. However, there is an emergency wave sender which was designed for just such a thing. I don't know if that's working. Let's see."
Peter opened a door set in the floor of the rocket which opened on an area jammed with equipment, wiring, and extra supplies. He reached around, extracted a small black box. He held it up, shook it gently. Handing it to Robin, he took out a roll of wire, and seating himself at the pilot's seat began to connect the box to the rocket. When it was plugged in to the electric system of the cabin, Peter flicked a switch and turned a knob. A thin humming came from the box.
"It works," he said. "This gives off a steady signal wave going on the general air-travel band. The radio buzz can be heard from Earth if it's being sought. By following it, astronomers can trace exactly where this rocket is. All we have to do is leave this on—it will run for years on our atomic power source. Eventually, rockets will locate us."
"But surely there must be some way of calling their attention even sooner?" said Robin. "Do you have flares?"
"You're right," Peter said excitedly. "We've got them. And it is night outside. If we use our flares, they could be seen on any decent-sized telescope. Shall we set them off?"
Robin nodded. "No time like now."
Peter reached again into the floor storages, opening another section, and began to pull out another space suit. "This was Arkady's," he said. "It should fit you."
It did. This time, Robin felt none of the uneasiness that had assailed him on his previous experience on the outside. In a few minutes, he and Peter were standing a short distance away from the rocket and setting out the flares.
Although the suit was cumbersome, it was not too uncomfortable. Instead of tight bandaging, the fabric of the suit consisted of some sort of self-inflating air sacs, which maintained an equal and natural pressure on the surface of Robin's body. The helmet, which was really airtight and warmed, was entirely comfortable, although again the breathing was a matter of a forced intake and a willful exhalation.
They set up the flares, which were magnesium-burning giant candles, a safe distance from the rocket, wired them to a detonator powered from the ship. Then, before going back, Robin and Peter simply stood and looked around.
All about, the giant bare mountains ringed the crater. Their gaunt, jagged outlines were a black ring against which was set the star-strewn wonder of the sky, in whose exact center slowly rotated the marvelous globe of Mother Earth.
The eerie Earthlight threw odd shadows and dark spots across the grayness of the plain. Here and there the mysterious-looking domes rose, the tops of bubbles as Robin had reason to know. In other places smaller craters and ringed ridges broke the surface.
"It looks desolate and barren," commented Peter on the helmet-radio. "Yet, you know, when we landed in the sunlight of the Moon's day, it wasn't all like this. There were patches of low scrubby plants growing in the lowest sections near spots where some air must have been seeping out. This crater is considerably lower than much of the surrounding areas on this central part of the Moon. The air here may be almost unnoticeable, but it is still just a bit denser even than it must be on the 'seas' beyond these crater walls."
"How did you spot that break in the wall we came through?" asked Robin, turning to search for it.
"As a matter of fact, it was quite obvious," said his brother. "In the sunlight, there's a distinct stream of vapor coming out of it and a lot of frozen water vapor all around. Further, it was just there that the green vegetation was growing thickest. It was quite inviting to a man looking for refuge ... otherwise I'd probably never have thought of it."
They trudged back to the rocket, climbed through the lock into the safety of the tiny cabin. Robin set the firing pin of the detonator switch, looked out. "It's the Western Hemisphere that's facing the Moon now," he said. "Just coming into view. Must be early morning around the New Mexico belt. You know, your Russian friends won't see this flare."
Peter looked up, shrugged. "We can fire another flare twelve hours later," he said. "I am not particular who rescues us. I am an American, you know. I owe something to the Soviets too. When you look at the world from here, from another planet, these distinctions of nationality seem so—somehow—unimportant. We are all humans, all from the same ancestors. Even if we were not brothers, we would feel ourselves such. Our roots go to all parts of the world. If you add up all people's ancestors a hundred generations back, you will realize that there can't be anyone who is not distantly related to everyone else—that we all share somebody in our ancestry who lived in every country of the world, shared all the histories of the past and all the different politics and opinions."
Peter grew quiet, as if a little amazed at his own outburst. Robin drew close to him, threw an arm around him. "I think when more men get out among the stars, people are going to realize that we can't afford to think of ourselves as anything other than citizens of Mother Earth. In the face of the universe, of Moonmen, of the inhabitants of the millions of other planets that must exist, our national differences seem so small, so much a private family matter as not to be thrashed out in the public of our interstellar neighbors. I think it's good we are brothers. All men are brothers."
Robin threw the switch.
Outside, the crater suddenly lighted up in a blinding white glare, a blaze that threw wild, dancing black shadows several miles across the floor, that momentarily lighted the great crags and precipices of the mountains, that made an outburst of grandeur in a moonscape of unearthly terror and beauty.
Five minutes later, when the flares had died down, Robin again threw the switch. The second set of magnesium bombs went off and again the crater was brilliantly lighted.
"On Earth that should stand out very sharply. It is nearly a new moon for them. This spot of light will be like a blinding diamond on a black velvet setting," said Peter poetically.
They rested now, taking their space suits off, lolling around on two hammocks, just talking, renewing acquaintance, exchanging experiences. They ate another meal, slept, finally donned their outfits again and set off the next set of flares a half Earth-day later, when the massive area of Eurasia was on the face of the globe in the Lunar sky.
"Now the Russian observers have had a chance to see us," said Peter. "We ought to go back to the underground world again. Our supplies here are not enough. In order to eat and breathe the next few months, we will have to live among the Glassies. We have to go back to the great cleft again."
"Yes," said Robin. "And that brings up the question of Von Borck. He'll be waiting for us, you know."
His brother nodded. "Ah, but this time we will be the ones who are armed and ready." He reached down, took out a second gun belt, handed it to Robin. "Use this. Strap it around your space suit."
Robin looked at it, lifted the pistol in its holster. "It's an army automatic," said Peter. "A Tokarev .30, built much the same as an American Colt. Here, I'll show you how it works."
He cautioned about the lack of a safety catch, showed how to load the clip of bullets. "Be careful of it, though. It has a strong kickback on Earth—here on the Moon, it may be quite tricky to fire a gun."
They dressed again in their outfits, loaded on other supplies that might come in handy, including a light carbine, hunting knife and axe, and waterproof pack of matches. They slung the gun belts around their waists, tied the nylon cord to each other as an added precaution, and made a last check of the rocket cabin.
The little radio signal was still humming. Some day it would bring a rescue ship. Whether that would be a matter of months or a matter of years was the only question. Robin gulped a bit at the prospect of spending more years away from his own world. Sight of Earth, the taste of real food had made him quite homesick.
He thrust such thoughts away, snapped tight his helmet plate, and nodded to Peter. They climbed out of the rocket, sealing the air-lock door. They stood for a moment outside the wreck, taking their bearings.
They turned to head for the cliff wall, when something wentpingoff a metal fixture on Robin's helmet. He started, pulled back and something seemed to flick past his eyes and pop against the side of the rocket.
He yelled and ducked for cover. "Look out, Peter! Get down!"
Standing on the surface, just outside the narrow crack that led underground, was the figure of a man—a man wearing a space suit similar to theirs, with a small dark object in his hand which issued a little flash of red fire.
"It's Von Borck," gasped Robin, "and he's shooting at us!"
Robin lay flat against the ground, holding himself motionless. Peter's voice came over his helmet-radio. "Did you get hit?"
"No," said Robin. "Something may have chipped my helmet but there's no leak, so I guess it wasn't a direct shot. How about you? Where are you?"
From his position he couldn't see his brother, who had obviously fallen somewhere near. "I'm down just behind you," came Peter's voice. "We'll have to find better cover than this. There's a slight ridge about a foot high a couple of yards to your left. Crawl over to it and get behind it."
Robin cautiously raised his head. It drew no fire and he realized that lying down in the darkness of the gray surface, the greenish Earthlight was not sufficient to outline him to Von Borck's eyes. He eased up on his arms and crawled slowly to the ridge. Behind this was a measure of protection. He was now free to twist his body around to look for Peter. In the cumbersome helmet and suit, the only way he could look around was to move his whole body.
Peter was crawling after him slowly. There was a sudden spurt of dust from the ground just behind him, like a tiny geyser. "Von's still shooting at you," said Robin. "Hurry!"
Peter slid quickly into refuge behind the ridge at Robin's side. Twisting his body, he unstrapped the light carbine rifle from his back, brought it around in front of him. "Have you ever fired a rifle or a pistol, Robin?" he asked.
"I learned some target shooting at school," said Robin. "I was a pretty fair shot. But I never handled a revolver."
Peter slid the rifle over to him. "Then you use this. I'll use my pistol. We'll have to get him before he gets us."
Robin held the rifle awkwardly. He glanced at it, saw that it was loaded, slid the bolt action. "I don't like this," he said. "If there was only some way we could capture him and hold him until we're rescued. You said he's a good man with rockets. Maybe he can be straightened out mentally if we can get him back to Earth."
Peter shrugged, grunted. "Don't waste time dreaming. Sure he was a good engineer. But right now it's him or us. If he has his way, none of us will ever return to Earth alive. Just remember he's doing his very best to kill us—we cannot dare do any less. Sure, if we get a break, we'll capture him. Right now, though, we'd better shoot him or we'll never get out of this alive."
Peter suited his action to his words. He clumsily forced his thickly gloved finger through the trigger guard and grasped the pistol. He swiftly raised up, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
There was a flash of red and simultaneously Peter fell over backward and rolled over once with a yell of pain. Robin turned, stricken with horror. "What happened! Are you hit?"
Peter's voice came back. "No, I'm not hit, but I almost wrenched my arm off! It was the gun's recoil, the kick! I completely forgot what a terribly strong recoil a pistol would have on the Moon. It was like holding a rocket engine in my hand for a split second. It simply hurled me right over."
Peter rolled himself over on his chest, resuming his position next to Robin. "We'll have to be careful when we fire. Remember the kick will be many times stronger than back on Earth."
There was another spurt of dust to one side of them. Another evidence of Von Borck's shooting. Possibly he had caught a glimpse of Peter's scramble.
Robin slid the rifle out in front of him, cocked it for firing. He crawled to a break in the ridge, propped the butt of the gun against a small outcropping of rock along the surface, rolled himself clumsily into position. Raising his head, he saw the figure of Von Borck still standing against the narrow entrance to the wall. He aimed the rifle as well as he was able under the handicaps, pressed it hard, and pulled the trigger.
He felt a sharp shock as the rifle tried to kick out of his hands, but he had bolstered it well. He saw a chunk of rock split from the cliffside just over the German's head. Von Borck ducked as the dust began to fall upon him in its slow Lunar fashion, then the German moved back into the break.
Robin again aimed the rifle, this time directly at the dark center of the break in the cliff. Again he fired. This time the figure of the space-suited man backed out of sight entirely.
"What now?" asked Robin. "Shall we wait for him to come back or shall we try to follow him?"
"Better take the chance and go after him," said his brother's voice. "Must follow up every advantage."
"Then let's go," said Robin and leaped to his feet. Peter jumped up with him and they both started to sprint for the entrance in the cliff.
They ran for it in low, swift leaps, and this time Robin saw what ease and fun running on the Moon's surface could be if you had the proper outfit for it. It was so light and easy, like running in a dream, gliding rapidly over the faintly lighted eerie moonscape in a world of absolute silence and motionlessness.
For an instant, as they closed in on the cliff, Robin saw Von Borck's figure appear, there was another flash of red and then the man vanished again. But the boys did not halt. Together they charged the entrance. In a matter of seconds, they reached it, blocked it.
There was no sign of the German. They shone their flashlamps into the channel behind the opening. There was nothing.
Robin could feel the faint rustling movement of the rushing air current, but he could see nothing in motion. Again he was struck by the weirdness of the phenomenon.
"Where'd he go?" he whispered, even though his voice could not be heard outside of their helmets.
"He's probably hiding somewhere. We'll have to follow him. Get ready and then remember to throw yourself hard across that air blast. It's strong." Peter checked the nylon that tied them together. "Shall I untie this or shall we jump together?"
"Let's go together," said Robin. They held hands, and, backing up, took a running start and threw themselves into the darkness of the break.
There was again the buffeting of a powerful wind, and Robin felt himself being caught off his feet by the force of a hurricane. Before he could be swept away, a jerk at the cord around his waist threw him down, and he rolled over on the windless far side of the tunnel, safe with Peter.
He became aware of outside noises. He followed Peter's example and opened the plate of his helmet. For an instant he gasped for air, then adjusted to the thin atmosphere.
Both brothers listened. But they heard nothing. "He must have headed back for the cleft," said Peter. "We'll have to follow him."
They started to retrace their tracks. Partly down the wind tunnel they found the downward slope on which they had traveled before. Robin flashed his lamp down its steep pitch. He saw nothing. Gingerly he began to work his way cautiously down the sharp slope.
Peter followed behind. Halfway down, Robin stopped for breath. When he caught it, he whispered, "I just thought of something. How do we know Von went down here? Maybe he's gone farther up the tunnel, waiting to slip back and get behind us."
"I don't think so," said Peter. "I looked in the dust up along the tunnel for his footprints and saw none. He must be ahead of us."
They slid on down the slope, found themselves at the beginning of the upper series of connected broken bubbles. Along this they trekked, passing along the debris-strewn floor, picking their way carefully. Shining their lamps ahead as they went, they saw no sign of motion.
Finally they came to the hole in the floor, through which they would have to drop several feet into the cave below. Robin switched off his light as they approached it, whispered to Peter to do the same.
They stood silently in the pitch darkness. Then Robin nudged Peter, pointed with his hand against Peter's. The hole in the floor was faintly visible. There was a dim flickering coming from it. Robin whispered, "It must be Von's flashlamp. He's down there, waiting for us."
Peter nodded in the darkness. "It was the logical spot. He probably hopes to shoot us as we drop through the hole."
The two stepped carefully up to the hole, not yet using their lights. They kneeled down, looked.
The cave below was almost dark. But from just outside it, from the tunnel that led into it, was a flickering light. Their crazed enemy was lurking there, waiting.
"What do we do now?" muttered Peter.
Robin looked carefully. "I think I have it. Untie the cord and give it to me."
Peter untied his end of the nylon rope that linked them. Robin undid his end, took his flashlamp, tied it to the cord. He whispered his plan to Peter.
Robin lit the flash, backed away from the hole several feet, and then kicked some rocks and began to make a clattering noise. At the same time he began to talk loudly, as if conversing with Peter.
Meanwhile, Peter was crouched at the edge of the hole, his Tokarev automatic firmly wedged against one side of the hole while it was pointing directly at the faint spot of light below which Von Borck was hiding.
Robin reached the hole, making sure he was creating enough noise for the rocket pilot to hear him. Then he waved his lamp a few times, flickering it around the cave below, and kneeling down, began to lower it on the cord, trying to keep its beam pointed at the tunnel in which their foe waited. This was the bait on their trap.
Just as he had expected, as the swinging lamp was about halfway down, dangling presumably in the helpless hand of a man being lowered to the floor—as Von Borck was supposed to think—the figure of the German appeared in the cave, uttering a wild yell of triumph and aiming a big pistol at the moving light.
Two guns went off at the same instant. There were two flashes of fire, two deafening blasts of sound. Von Borck's bullet shattered the swinging flashlamp, blew it into a dozen fragments.
Peter's bullet struck Von Borck in the chest, hurling him against the wall to fall in a heap on the floor.
Without wasting time, Peter simply stepped into the hole and drifted downward in the low force of Moon gravity. Robin followed suit. They leaned over the German's body.
Robin looked at the pale, mustached face, the staring eyes. "I think he's dead," he said. "Though he could be only unconscious." He reached over, started to feel the man's face to find out whether he still breathed.
"Look out!" shouted Peter suddenly and grabbed Robin, pulling him to one side. Robin looked up and back.
Above him, with maddening leisureliness, the entire ceiling of the underground bubble was dropping down, dropping in several giant chunks, several Earth tons of rock falling toward them.
With a mad scramble the two leaped to safety in the tunnel leading downward. There was a slow grinding crash as the shattered roof of the cave settled to the floor, crushing the body beneath it, blocking and sealing the tunnel.
"Come on!" Peter grabbed Robin's arm. "The rest of it is caving in! We'd better run!"
They dashed down the tunnel, as it crashed behind them. On they ran, following the twisted trail through fault and cleft and bubble, with disaster following their steps. Finally the ruin and destruction came to an end as they reached the last steep slope downward to the great sealed cleft.
"What happened?" asked Robin, as they paused at last to catch their breath.
"The explosions!" gasped Peter. "The concussions of our pistols shattered the delicate balance of the honeycomb undersurface here. We're lucky it didn't all come down at once, rather than in the form of a chain reaction. We're lucky to be alive, believe me!"
"Yes," said Robin, beginning to make his way down the last tunnel that led to the open ledge of the great bubble-world where the Glassies lived. "Yes, we're lucky to be alive, but how will we ever get back to the surface now? We're sealed in. Maybe forever."
Peter was silent as they reached the ledge, looked into the vastness of the cleft-world, saw the faint flickering lights of Moonworm and Moonman. "Maybe we'll never get out. Robinson Crusoe lived twenty-eight years on his island before he was rescued. It may be fifty before they find us in here."
Robin shrugged. "When I first landed here, I said to myself that while there's life there's hope. Now there are two of us. And that's an advance...."