_In the Helio-room_
At six A. M., earth Eastern time, which we were still carrying, Snap
Dean and I were alone in his instrument room, perched in the network
over the Planetara's deck. The bulge of the dome enclosed us; it rounded
like a great observatory window some twenty feet above the ceiling of
this little metal cubby-hole.
The Planetara was still in the earth's shadow. The firmament--black
interstellar space with its blazing white, red and yellow stars--lay
spread around us. The moon, with nearly all its disc illumined, hung, a
great silver ball, over our bow quarter. Behind it, to one side, Mars
floated like the red tip of a smoldering cigarillo in the blackness. The
earth, behind our stern, was dimly, redly visible--a giant sphere,
etched with the configurations of its oceans and continents. Upon one
limb a touch of the sunlight hung on the mountain-tops with a crescent
red-yellow sheen.
And then we plunged from the cone-shadow. The sun, with the leaping
Corona, burst through the blackness behind us. The earth lighted into a
huge, thin crescent with hooked cusps.
To Snap and me, the glories of the heavens were too familiar to be
remarked. And upon this voyage particularly we were in no mood to
consider them. I had been in the helio-room several hours. When the
Planetara started, and my few routine duties were over, I could think of
nothing save Halsey's and Carter's admonition: "Be on your guard. And
particularly--watch George Prince."
I had not seen George Prince. But I had seen his sister, whom Carter and
Halsey had not bothered to mention. My heart was still pounding with the
memory....
* * * * *
When the passengers had retired and the ship quieted, I prowled through
the passenger corridors. This was about the trinight hour.[3] Hot as the
corridors of hell, with our hull and the glassite dome seething with the
friction of our atmospheric flight. But the refrigerators mitigated
that; the ventilators blasted cold air from the renewers into every
corner of the vessel. Within an hour or two, with the cold of space
striking us, it was hot air that was needed.
Dr. Frank evidently was having little trouble with pressure-sick
passengers[4]--the Planetara's equalizers were fairly efficient. I did
not encounter Dr. Frank. I prowled through the silent metal lounges and
passages. I went to the door of A 22. It was on the deck-level, in a
tiny transverse passage just off the main lounging room. Its name-grid
glowed with the letters: "_Anita Prince._" I stood in my short white
trousers and white silk shirt, like a cabin steward gawping. Anita
Prince! I had never heard the name until this night. But there was magic
music in it now, as I murmured it to myself. Anita Prince....
She was here, doubtless asleep, behind this small metal door. It seemed
as though that little oval grid were the gateway to a fairyland of my
dreams.
I turned away. And thought of the Grantline Moon Expedition stabbed at
me. George Prince--Anita's brother--he whom I had been told to watch.
This renegade--associate of dubious Martians, plotting God knows what.
* * * * *
I saw, upon the adjoining door, "A 20, _George Prince_." I listened. In
the humming stillness of the ship's interior there was no sound from
these cabins. A 20 was without windows, I knew. But Anita's room had a
window and a door which gave upon the deck. I went through the lounge,
out its arch, and walked the deck length. The deck door and window of
A 22 were closed and dark.
The ten-foot-wide deck was dim with white starlight from the side ports.
Chairs were here, but they were all empty. From the bow windows of the
arching dome a flood of moonlight threw long, slanting shadows down the
deck. At the corner where the superstructure ended, I thought I saw a
figure lurking as though watching me. I went that way, but it vanished.
I turned the corner, went the width of the ship to the other side. There
was no one in sight save the observer on his spider bridge, high in the
bow network, and the second officer, on duty on the turret balcony
almost directly over me.
As I stood and listened, I suddenly heard footsteps. From the direction
of the bow a figure came. Purser Johnson.
He greeted me. "Cooling off, Gregg?"
"Yes," I said.
He went past me and turned into the smoking room door nearby.
I stood a moment at one of the deck windows, gazing at the stars; and
for no reason at all I realized I was tense. Johnson was a great one for
his regular sleep--it was wholly unlike him to be roaming about the ship
at such an hour. Had he been watching me? I told myself it was nonsense.
I was suspicious of everyone, everything, this voyage.
* * * * *
I heard another step. Captain Carter appeared from his chart-room which
stood in the center of the narrowing open deck space near the bow. I
joined him at once.
"Who was that?" he half-whispered.
"Johnson."
"Oh, yes." He fumbled in his uniform; his gaze swept the moonlit deck.
"Gregg--take this." He handed me a small metal box. I stuffed it at once
into my shirt.
"An insulator," he added, swiftly. "Snap is in his office. Take it to
him, Gregg. Stay with him--you'll have a measure of security--and you
can help him to make the photographs." He was barely whispering. "I
won't be with you--no use making it look as though we were doing
anything unusual. If your graphs show anything--or if Snap picks up any
message--bring it to me." He added aloud, "Well, it will be cool enough
presently, Gregg."
He sauntered away toward his chart-room.
"By heavens, what a relief!" Snap murmured as the current went on. We
had wired his cubby with the insulator; within its barrage we could at
last talk with a degree of freedom.
"You've seen George Prince, Gregg?"
"No. He's assigned A 20. But I saw his sister. Snap, no one ever
mentioned--"
Snap had heard of her, but he hadn't known that she was listed for this
voyage. "A real beauty, so I've heard. Accursed shame for a decent girl
to have a brother like that."
I could agree with him there, but I made no comment.
* * * * *
It was now 6 A. M. Snap had been busy all night with routine cosmo-radios
from the earth, following our departure. He had a pile of them beside
him. Many were for the passengers; but anything that savored of a code
was barred.
"Nothing queer looking?" I suggested.
"No. Not a thing."
We were at this time no more than some sixty-five thousand miles from
the moon's surface. The Planetara presently would swing upon her direct
course for Mars. There was nothing which could cause passenger comment
in this close passing of the moon; normally we used the satellite's
attraction to give us additional starting speed.
It was now or never that a message would come from Grantline. He was
supposed to be upon this earthward side of the moon. While Snap had
rushed through with his routine, I had searched the moon surface with
our glass, as I knew Carter was searching it--and also the observer in
his tower, very possibly.
But there was nothing. Copernicus and Kepler lay in full sunlight. The
heights of the lunar mountains, the depths of the barren, empty seas
were etched black and white, clear and clean. Grim, forbidding
desolation, this unchanging moon! In romance, moonlight may shimmer and
sparkle to light a lover's smile; but the reality of the moon is cold
and bleak. There was nothing to show my prying eyes where the intrepid
Grantline might be.
"Nothing at all, Snap."
And Snap's helio mirrors, attuned for an hour now to pick up the
faintest signal, were motionless.
"If he has concentrated any appreciable amount of radio-active ore,"
said Snap, "we should get an impulse from its Gamma rays."
* * * * *
But our receiving shield was dark, untouched. We tried taking hydrogen
photographic impressions of the visible moon surface. A sequence of
them, with stereoscopic lenses, forty-eight to the second. Our
mirror-grid gave the magnified images; the spectro-heliograph, with its
wave-length selection, pictured the mountain-levels, and slowly
descended into the deepest seas.
There was nothing.
Yet in those moon caverns--a million million recesses amid the crags of
that tumbled, barren surface--the pin-point of movement which might have
been Grantline's expedition could so easily be hiding! Could he have the
ore insulated, fearing its Gamma rays would betray its presence to
hostile watchers?
Or might disaster have come to him? Or he might not be upon this
hemisphere of the moon at all....
My imagination, sharpened by fancy of a lurking menace which seemed
everywhere about the Planetara this voyage, ran rife with fears for
Johnny Grantline. He had promised to communicate this voyage. It was
now, or perhaps never.
Six-thirty came and passed. We were well beyond the earth's shadow now.
The firmament blazed with its vivid glories; the sun behind us was a
ball of yellow-red leaping flames. The earth hung, opened to a huge,
dull-red half-sphere.
* * * * *
We were within some forty thousand miles of the moon. Giant white
ball--all of its disc visible to the naked eye. It poised over the bow,
and presently, as the Planetara swung upon her course for Mars, it
shifted sidewise. The light of it glared white and dazzling in our tiny
side windows.
Snap, with his habitual red celluloid eyeshade shoved high on his
forehead, worked over our instruments.
"Gregg!"
The receiving shield was glowing a trifle! Gamma rays were bombarding
it! It glowed, gleamed phosphorescent, and the audible recorder began
sounding its tiny tinkling murmurs.
Gamma rays! Snap sprang to the dials. The direction and strength were
soon obvious. A richly radio-active ore body, of considerable size, was
concentrated upon this hemisphere of the moon! It was unmistakable.
"He's got it, Gregg! He's--"
The tiny helio mirrors began quivering. Snap exclaimed triumphantly,
"Here he comes! By God, the message at last! Bar off that light!"
* * * * *
I flung on the absorbers. The moonlight bathing the little room went
into them and darkness sprang around us. Snap fumbled at his instrument
board. Actinic light showed dimly in the quivering, thumbnail mirrors.
Two of them. They hung poised on their cobweb wires, infinitely
sensitive to the infra-red light-rays Grantline was sending from the
moon. The mirrors in a moment began swinging. On the scale across the
room the actinic beams from them were magnified into sweeps of light.
The message!
Snap spelled it out, decoded it.
"_Success! Stop for ore on your return voyage. Will give you our
location later. Success beyond wildest hopes--_"
The mirrors hung motionless. The shield, where the Gamma rays were
bombarding, went suddenly dark.
Snap murmured, "That's all. He's got the ore! 'Success beyond wildest
hopes.' That must mean an enormous quantity of it available!"
We were sitting in darkness, and abruptly I became aware that across our
open window, where the insulation barrage was flung, the air was faintly
hissing. An interference there! I saw a tiny swirl of purple sparks.
Someone--some hostile ray from the deck beneath us, or from the spider
bridge that led to our little room--someone out there trying to pry
in!
Snap impulsively reached for the absorbers to let in the outside
light--it was all darkness to us outside. But I checked him.
"Wait!" I cut off our barrage, opened our door and stepped to the narrow
metal bridge.
"Wait, Snap! You stay there." I added aloud, "Well, Snap, I'm going to
bed. Glad you've cleaned up that batch of work."
* * * * *
I banged the door upon him. The lacework of metal bridges and ladders
seemed empty. I gazed up to the dome, and forward and aft. Twenty feet
beneath me was the metal roof of the cabin superstructure. Below it,
both sides of the deck showed. All patched with moonlight.
No one visible down there. I descended a ladder. The deck was empty. But
in the silence something was moving! Footsteps moving away from me down
the deck! I followed; and suddenly I was running. Chasing something I
could hear, but could not see. It turned into the smoking room.
I burst in. And a real sound smothered the phantom. Johnson the purser
was sitting here alone in the dimness. He was smoking. I noticed that
his cigar held a long, frail ash. It could not have been him I was
chasing. He was sitting there quite calmly. A thick-necked, heavy
fellow, easily out of breath. But he was breathing calmly now.
He sat up with amazement at my wild-eyed appearance, and the ash jarred
from his cigar.
"Gregg! What in the devil--"
I tried to grin. "I'm on my way to bed--worked all night helping Snap
with those damn Earth messages."
I went past him, out the door into the main interior corridor. It was
the only way the invisible prowler could have gone. But I was too late
now--I could hear nothing. I dashed forward into the main lounge. It
was empty, dim and silent, a silence broken presently by a faint
click--a stateroom door hastily closing. I swung and found myself in a
tiny transverse passage. The twin doors of A 22 and A 20 were before
me.
The invisible eavesdropper had gone into one of these rooms! I listened
at each of the panels, but there was only silence within.
The interior of the ship was suddenly singing with the steward's
siren--the call to awaken the passengers. It startled me. I moved
swiftly away. But as the siren shut off, in the silence I heard a soft,
musical voice:
"Wake up, Anita--I think that's the breakfast call."
And her answer: "All right, George. I hear it."