A Fall of Moondust

Pat and the Doctor did not relax until they had pumped the foul air from the lungs of all their unconscious companions. Then, very tired, yet feeling the calm joy of men who see some great ordeal approach its triumphant end, they slumped to the floor and waited for the second drill to come through the roof.

Ten minutes later, they heard it bang against the outer hull, just forward of the air lock. When Lawrence called to check its position, Pat confirmed that this time it was clear of obstructions. “And don't worry,” he added. “I won't touch that drill until you tell me.”

It was now so cold that he and McKenzie had put on their outer clothing once more, and had draped blankets over the sleeping passengers. But Pat did not call a halt; as long as they were not in actual distress, the colder the better. They were driving back the deadly heat that had almost cooked them—and, even more important, their own air purifiers would probably start working again, now that the temperature had dropped so drastically.

When that second pipe came through the roof, they would be doubly safeguarded. The men on the raft could keep them supplied with air indefinitely, and they would also have several hours—perhaps a day's—reserve of their own. They might still have a long wait here beneath the dust, but the suspense was over.

Unless, of course, the Moon arranged some fresh surprises.

“Well, Mr. Spenser,” said Captain Anson, “looks as if you've got your story.”

Spenser felt almost as exhausted, after the strain of the last hour, as any of the men out on the raft, two kilometers below him. He could see them there on the monitor, on medium close-up. They were obviously relaxing—as well as men could relax when they were wearing space suits.

Five of them, indeed, appeared to be trying to get some sleep, and were tackling the problem in a startling but sensible manner. They were lying beside the raft, half submerged in the dust, rather like floating rubber dolls. It had not occurred to Spenser that a space suit was much too buoyant to sink in this stuff. By getting off the raft, the five technicians were not only providing themselves with an incomparably luxurious couch; they were leaving a greatly enlarged working space for their companions.

The three remaining members of the team were moving slowly around, adjusting and checking equipment—especially the rectangular bulk of the air purifier and the big lox spheres coupled to it. At maximum optical and electronic zoom, the camera could get within ten meters of all this gear—almost close enough to read the gauges. Even at medium magnification, it was easy to spot the two pipes going over the side and leading down to the invisible Selene.

This relaxed and peaceful scene made a startling contrast with that of an hour ago. But there was nothing more to be done here until the next batch of equipment arrived. Both of the skis had gone back to Port Roris; that was where all the activity would now be taking place, as the engineering staff tested and assembled the gear which, they hoped, would enable them to reach Selene. It would be another day at least before that was ready. Meanwhile, barring accidents, the Sea of Thirst would continue to bask undisturbed in the morning sun, and the camera would have no new scenes to throw across space.

From one and a half light-seconds away, the voice of the program director back on Earth spoke inside Auriga's control cabin.

“Nice work, Maurice, Jules. We'll keep taping the picture in case anything breaks at your end, but we don't expect to carry it live until the oh six hundred news spot.”

“How's it holding up?”

“Supernova rating. And there's a new angle-every crackpot inventor who ever tried to patent a new paper clip is crawling out of the woodwork with ideas. We're rounding up a batch of them at six fifteen. It should be good fun.”

“Who knows—perhaps one of them may have something.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. The sensible ones won't come near our program when they see the treatment the others are getting.”

“Why—what are you doing to them?”

“Their ideas are being analyzed by your scientist friend Doctor Lawson. We've had a dummy run with him; he skins them alive.”

“Not my friend,” protested Spenser. “I've only met him twice. The first time I got ten words out of him; the second time, he fell asleep on me.”

“Well, he's developed since then, believe it or not. You'll see him in—oh, forty-five minutes.”

“I can wait. Anyway, I'm only interested in what Lawrence plans to do. Has he made a statement? You should be able to get at him, now the pressure's off.”

“He's still furiously busy and won't talk. We don't think the Engineering Department has made up its mind yet, anyhow. They're testing all sorts of gadgets at Port Roris, and ferrying in equipment from all over the Moon. We'll keep you in touch if we learn anything new.”