Their personal code. No doubt of this--it was Grantline, who had seen
the _Planetara_ fall and had come to help us.
I stood then with my hand holding Anita. And I whispered, "It's
Grantline! We're safe, Anita, my darling!"
Death had been so close! Those horrible last minutes on the
_Planetara_ had shocked us, marked us. We stood trembling. And
Grantline and his men came bounding up, weird, inflated figures.
A helmeted figure touched me. I saw through the helmetpane the visage
of a stern-faced, square-jawed young man.
"Grantline? Johnny Grantline?"
"Yes," said his voice at my ear-grid. "I'm Grantline. You're Haljan?
Gregg Haljan?"
They crowded around us. Gripped us, to hear our explanations.
Brigands! It was amazing to Johnny Grantline. But the menace was over
now, over as soon as Grantline realized its existence.
We stood for a brief time discussing it. Then I drew apart, leaving
Snap with Grantline. And Anita joined me. I held her arm so that we
had audiphone contact.
"Anita, mine."
"Gregg--dear one!"
Murmured nothings which mean so much to lovers!
As we stood in the fantastic gloom of Lunar desolation, with the
blessed Earthlight on us, I sent up a prayer of thankfulness. Not that
the enormous treasure was saved. Not that the attack upon Grantline
had been averted. But only that Anita was given back to me. In moments
of greatest emotion the human mind individualizes. To me, there was
only Anita.
Life is very strange! The gate to the shining garden of our love
seemed swinging wide to let us in. Yet I recall that a vague fear
still lay on me. A premonition?
I felt a touch on my arm. A bloated helmet visor was thrust near my
own. I saw Snap's face peering at me.
"Grantline thinks we should return to the _Planetara_. Might find some
of them alive."