The sun was passing swiftly from overhead. A chill began to touch the
air, as darkness blacked out the cavern. It would be another two weeks
before they could resume any work on their problem. Robin started to
build a fire in their cave, one they burned every Moon winter's night.
As he did so a thought struck him.
He turned. "When we were first returning from the surface it occurred
to me as we came out that there had to be some sort of volcanic current
warming this cavern, sun or no sun. Now it seems to me that if we could
find that current, we would find some sort of air stream or water
stream, that must go upward. We ought to look for the warmest spot in
the cavern, trace it."
Peter turned, a sharp light in his eye. "And now that you say it, do
you know what that current is? It's the one that passes the break in
the crater wall--the constant hurricane that we broke through to get in
here, which rushes by the break so hard and so fast that it seals this
cavern's quiet inner air as perfectly as if it were an air lock. It has
to be that very current which passes somewhere lower down and warms
this cleft!"
Robin nodded, a sharp excitement stirring him. "I think we have hit
on it. The night time is the time to hunt for it. Find the spot or
places in this cleft that stay warmest and they must be nearest the
underground wind tunnel."
So they set out on a new course of exploration, this time scouting the
bubble in the dark of the night. It grew chillier, but in their space
suits, which they had resumed for this expedition, they could keep
warm. They found several areas along the ground where it seemed a bit
warmer than in the cave generally, but after several days of search,
this clue also seemed fruitless. The areas were such that no amount of
digging short of high explosives would suffice.
Finally when the long Lunar night was almost over, they awakened from
sleep in the cave to face the thought that this too was a blind alley.
Korree entered, the monkey on his shoulder. He made his way to them,
noticed their air of sadness, asked them why.
Tired, Robin explained to him what they were looking for. His Glassie
friend cocked his head. "You come my home. I show you hot spot," he
said.
The two men looked up. "What?" asked Peter. Korree repeated his
statement. Peter looked at Robin quizzically. Without another word the
two got up and followed the Glassie.
The deep cave where the chief made his home was only a short distance
from their own. Here, at the very back of the chief's home, they found
what they sought. There was a thin, sharp crack in the rear wall. The
stone around it was definitely warmer than that in the rest of the
cave. Putting their ears to the crack, they could hear the faint high
whistling of the air current that must be roaring past only a foot or
two beyond.
"This is why it was picked as the chief's cave," said Robin. "It's
practically air-conditioned!"
The next day, after the sun had finally made its appearance, the two
started to work in the back of Korree's cave. They worked carefully
with axe and pick, enlarging the crack, chipping away at it. Finally,
they dislodged a sizable segment of rock, enough to allow one man to
squeeze through.
Sure enough, there was a dark underground channel through whose center
rushed the eternal current of hot volcanic air. This channel probably
had its source somewhere in the still-mysterious depths of the Moon's
core. It wound and forced its way upward doubtless to dissipate
somewhere, as the cold of the surface bore away its warmth, probably to
wind up downward again as a mass of cold gas.
There was barely enough room at the side of the tunnel for a man to
stand flat against the wall, without touching the blast.
Robin, who had gone through to examine it, came back out into the light
of Korree's cave. "Well," he asked Peter, "what do we do now?"
His brother nodded. "I think we can get to the surface all right. Just
get in the blast and let ourselves be blown along upward. When we find
that break, we'll get out of the current and we'll be able to reach our
rocket."
"Uh huh," said Robin, "and then how do we get back down here again?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. There must be a way."
The two returned to their own place and talked it over. But the
opportunity was too good to pass up. "Sooner or later," said Robin,
"we're going to do it. So we may as well face that. As for getting
back, perhaps we could simply walk all the way down the channel,
keeping carefully to the side of dead air just beyond the blast."
Peter frowned. "I don't think you'll find much of that. There can't be
many places where such a dead air channel exists. On the other hand,
if we attack the problem of returning by the old route, we may be able
to find a way through it from that end--or make a new one. Back at the
rocket there are explosives, better tools than those we have. I think
we should risk it."
"Yes," Robin added, "I think so too. Besides, we ought to fire off some
more flares. Our signals may never have been seen."
That being settled, the two Earthlings again donned their space suits,
equipped themselves, tied themselves together with a length of cord.
They returned to Korree's cave, explained their project and gravely
shook hands with their Glassie friend.
Then Robin carefully eased himself through the break into the dark
channel. Peter squeezed through after him, as Robin flattened himself
along the wall and moved aside. Their helmets sealed, Robin counted to
three, and then both leaped forward.
Instantly the racing wind current caught them up, snatched them off
their feet. They found themselves being blown madly along the darkness
like leaves before a gale.
The air was hot and Robin felt himself almost scorched as he was hurled
along, his elbows and legs occasionally scraping the wall, once feeling
himself somersaulting upward, twisting and turning in the horrible
blast.
For a dreadful moment he felt panicky, out of control, utterly helpless
in the grip of the underground tornado. He lighted the flash, saw it
wildly flickering. He drew his legs up, ducked his head, and found he
could get his equilibrium. Ahead of him the tunnel was ascending. He
felt himself rising, felt the slight drag occasionally at his belt as
Peter's bouncing body followed his.
Now the air began to cool and seemed to slow down slightly. The passage
leveled off, he was whirling down a straight passage, and suddenly, in
a split second of awareness, he saw a faint spot of bright light ahead
of him. He rushed toward it, like a ball buoyed on a stream from a fire
hose. It must be the exit to the surface, he thought, and in a second
held out the axe he gripped in his hand.
The handle caught at the opening as he went sailing by, jammed, swung
his body against the wall with a smack. Peter's body flashed past,
caught up short by the cord, and also hit the body of airless space on
the outer side of the channel.
They climbed dazedly to their feet and struggled to the narrow break.
They staggered out onto the surface, now bathed in the blindingly
brilliant light of the sun rising over the peaks of the farther
mountains ringing the crater.
Around them were the first shoots of the stubborn and hardy surface
vegetation in this crater, dwarfed cousins of the plants below.
They caught their breath. "Better get moving," said Peter finally.
"This sun is dangerous."
They started across the floor of the crater, the several hundred feet
to where the nose of the wrecked Russian rocket rested. Both men knew
they were bruised from the short, mad trip. There would be scraped
shins and knees and elbows. But they had made it, that was the thing.
They were about a hundred feet out, when suddenly Robin stopped, stared
into the sky. Peter followed his glance.
There was something up there. When they had first glanced up, there was
the Earth still in its place, though now but a crescent. There were the
myriad stars, and the corona-encircled sun. And now there was another
celestial object. A tiny spot of reddish orange was growing in the sky,
growing as they watched it.
"What is it?" asked Robin in a half whisper, afraid to venture the
thought that was rioting around in his head.
Peter simply stared, transfixed.
The moving spot of fire grew rapidly, enlarged, took shape. It was a
tiny stream of energy, like the tail of a tiny comet. It came still
closer. Now they could see a flash of white and silver at its core,
and still it drew closer. Now it took definite shape, a tiny body of
metal and paint riding down on a long stream of atomic fire!
Then in mere seconds it hung over them, no longer tiny but a giant
tower of polished metal hanging over the crater floor, falling ever
more slowly, its great column of rocket fire reaching and scorching the
surface of the rock. And suddenly, the fire was gone, there was a faint
thud felt through the ground, and the two brothers stood staring.
Out there, not very distant, was standing a glorious, tall, slender
rocket ship, fresh with paint, beautifully and delicately balanced on
finely tapered fins, graceful as only a space craft can be.
On its side, clearly visible in the sunlight, was a large blue circle
on which was superimposed the white star of the United States Air
Force. There were numbers and things and a small, black air lock now
opening near the nose of the rocket, but Robin and Peter hardly noticed
these through the tears of joy that sprang to their eyes as they ran
and bounded over the Moon's surface to greet their rescuers. Waving
their hands, shouting, heedless of whether they were being heard, they
were Robinson Crusoes no longer. They were on their way home.
_ABOUT THE AUTHOR_
Donald A. Wollheim, born in 1914, has lived in New York City all his
life. At first a free-lance writer of stories and articles mainly for
science-fiction magazines, he began his career as editor in 1940. He
has edited all kinds of magazines, including detective, sports, and
western periodicals. In 1952, Mr. Wollheim was invited to launch Ace
Books and has since held the position of editor of these paperbacks.
Science fiction is Mr. Wollheim's chief interest and hobby. His
collection of science-fiction books and magazines is one of the largest
and his list of published books is a long one. Many distinguished
anthologies of fantasy and science fiction bear his name as editor.
Among his most recent books of original fiction are _The Secret of
Saturn's Rings_ and _The Secret of the Martian Moons_.
End of Project Gutenberg's One Against the Moon, by Donald A. Wollheim