"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.