Brigands of the Moon

by Ray Cummings

  III

  At six A.M., Earth Eastern time, which we were still carrying, SnapDean and I were alone in his instrument room, perched in the networkover the _Planetara's_ deck. The bulge of the dome enclosed us; itrounded like a great observatory window some twenty feet above theceiling of this little metal cubbyhole.

  The _Planetara_ was still in Earth's shadow. The firmament--black,interstellar space with its blazing white, red and yellow stars--layspread 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 cigar 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 onelimb a touch of sunlight hung on the mountain tops with a crescentred-yellow sheen.

  And then we plunged from the cone shadow. The Sun with the leapingcorona, burst through the blackness behind us. The Earth lighted intoa huge, thin crescent with hooked cusps.

  To Snap and me, the glories of the heavens were too familiar to beremarked. And upon this voyage particularly we were in no mood toconsider them. I had been in the radio room several hours. When the_Planetara_ started, and my few routine duties were over, I couldthink of nothing save Halsey's and Carter's admonition: "Be on yourguard. And particularly--watch George Prince."

  I had not seen George Prince. But I had seen his sister, whom Carterand Halsey had not bothered to mention. My heart was still poundingwith the memory.

  Dr. Frank evidently was having little trouble with pressure sickpassengers. The _Planetara's_ equalizers were fairly efficient.Prowling through the silent metal lounges and passages, I went to thedoor of A22. It was on the deck level, in a tiny transverse passagejust off the main lounging room. Its name-grid glowed with theletters: _Anita Prince_. I stood in my short white trousers and whitesilk shirt, like a cabin steward staring. Anita Prince! I had neverheard the name until this night. But there was magic music in it now,as I murmured it.

  She was here, doubtless asleep, behind this small metal door. Itseemed as though that little oval grid were the gateway to a fairylandof my dreams.

  I turned away. Thought of the Grantline Moon Expedition stabbed at me.George Prince--Anita's brother--he whom I had been warned to watch.This renegade--associate of dubious Martians, plotting God knows what.

  I saw, upon the adjoining door, A20, _George Prince_. I listened. Inthe humming stillness of the ship's interior there was no sound fromthese cabins. A20 was without windows, I knew. But Anita's room had awindow 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 ofA22 were closed and dark.

  The deck was dim with white starlight from the side ports. Chairs werehere but they were all empty. From the bow windows of the arching domea flood of moonlight threw long, slanting shadows down the deck. Atthe corner where the superstructure ended, I thought I saw a figurelurking 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, highin the bow network, and the second officer, on duty on the turretbalcony almost directly over me.

  As I stood and listened, I suddenly heard footsteps. From thedirection of the bow a figure came. Purser Johnson.

  He greeted me. "Cooling off, Gregg?"

  "Yes," I said.

  He passed me and went into the smoking room door nearby.

  I stood a moment at one of the deck windows, gazing at the stars; andfor no reason at all I realized I was tense. Johnson was a great onefor his regular sleep--it was wholly unlike him to be roaming aboutthe ship at such an hour. Had he been watching me? I told myself itwas nonsense. I was suspicious of everyone, everything, this voyage.

  I heard another step. Captain Carter appeared from his chart roomwhich stood in the center of the narrowing open deck space near thebow. 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 atonce into my shirt.

  "An insulator," he added swiftly. "Snap is in his office. Take it tohim, Gregg. Stay with him--you'll have a measure of security--and youcan help him to make the photographs." He was barely whispering. "Iwon't be with you--no use making it look as though we were doinganything unusual. If your graphs show anything--or if Snap picks upany message--bring it to me." He added aloud, "Well, it will be coolenough presently, Gregg."

  He sauntered away toward his chart room.

  "By heavens, what a relief!" Snap murmured as the current went on. Wehad wired his cubby with the insulator; within its barrage we could atleast talk with a degree of freedom.

  "You've seen George Prince, Gregg?"

  "No. He's assigned A20. But I saw his sister. Snap, no one evermentioned--"

  Snap had heard of her, but he hadn't known that she was listed forthis voyage. "A real beauty, so I've heard. Accursed shame for adecent girl to have a brother like that."

  I could agree with him there....

  It was now six A.M. Snap had been busy all night with routinecosmos-radios from the Earth, following our departure. He had a pileof them beside him.

  "Nothing queer looking?" I suggested.

  "No. Not a thing."

  We were at this time no more than sixty-five thousand miles from theMoon's surface. The _Planetara_ presently would swing upon her directcourse for Mars. There was nothing which could cause passengercomment in this close passing of the Moon; normally we used thesatellite's attraction to give us additional starting speed.

  It was now or never that a message would come from Grantline. He wassupposed to be upon the Earthward side of the Moon. While Snap hadrushed through with his routine, I searched the Moon's surface withour glass.

  But there was nothing. Copernicus and Kepler lay in full sunlight. Theheights of the lunar mountains, the depths of the barren, empty seaswere etched black and white, clear and clean. Grim, forbiddingdesolation, this unchanging Moon. In romance, moonlight may shimmerand sparkle to light a lover's smile; but the reality of the Moon iscold and bleak. There was nothing to show my prying eyes where theintrepid Grantline might be.

  "Nothing at all, Snap."

  And Snap's instruments, attuned for an hour now to pick up thefaintest signal, were motionless.

  "If he has concentrated any appreciable amount of ore," said Snap. "Weshould get an impulse from its rays."

  But our receiving shield was dark, untouched. Our mirror grid gave themagnified images; the spectro, with its wave length selection,pictured the mountain levels and slowly descended into the deepestseas.

  There was nothing.

  Yet in those Moon caverns--a million million recesses amid the cragsof that tumbled, barren surface--the pin point of movement which mighthave been Grantline's expedition could so easily be hiding! Could hehave the ore insulated, fearing its rays would betray its presence tohostile watchers?

  Or might disaster have come to him? He might not be on this hemisphereof the Moon at all....

  My imagination, sharpened by fancy of a lurking menace which seemedeverywhere about the _Planetara_ this voyage, ran rife with fears forJohnny Grantline. He had promised to communicate this voyage. It wasnow, or perhaps never.

  Six-thirty came and passed. We were well beyond the Earth's shadownow. The firmament blazed with its vivid glories; the Sun behind uswas a ball of yellow-red leaping flames. The Earth hung, a huge, dullred half sphere.

  We were within forty thousand miles of the Moon. A giant whiteball--all of its disc visible to the naked eye. It poised over thebow, and presently, as the _Planetara_ swung upon its course for Mars,it shifted sidewise. The light of it glared white and dazzling in ourwindows.

  Snap, with his habitual red celluloid eyeshade shoved high on hisforehead, worked over our instruments.<
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  "Gregg!"

  The receiving shield was glowing a trifle. Rays were bombarding it! Itglowed, gleamed phosphorescent, and the audible recorder begansounding its tiny tinkling murmurs.

  Gamma rays! Snap sprang to the dials. The direction and strength weresoon obvious. A richly radioactive ore body was concentrated upon thishemisphere of the Moon! It was unmistakable.

  "He's got it, Gregg! He's--"

  The tiny grids began quivering. Snap exclaimed triumphantly, "Here hecomes! By God, the message at last!"

  Snap decoded it.

  _Success! Stop for ore on your return voyage. Will give you ourlocation later. Success beyond wildest hopes._

  Snap murmured, "That's all. He's got the ore!"

  We were sitting in darkness, and abruptly I became aware that acrossour open window, where the insulation barrage was flung, the air wasfaintly hissing. An interference there! I saw a tiny swirl of purplesparks. Someone--some hostile ray from the deck beneath us, or fromthe spider bridge that led to our little room--someone out there wastrying to pry in!

  Snap impulsively reached for the absorbers to let in the outsidelight. But I checked him.

  "Wait!" I cut off our barrage, opened our door and stepped to thenarrow metal bridge.

  "You stay there, Snap!" I whispered. Then 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 seemedempty. I gazed up to the dome, and forward and aft. Twenty feetbeneath 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 medown the deck! I followed; and suddenly I was running. Chasingsomething I could hear, but could not see. It turned into the smokingroom.

  I burst in. And a real sound smothered the phantom. Johnson the purserwas sitting here alone in the dimness. He was smoking. I noticed thathis cigar held a long frail ash. It could not have been him I waschasing. He was sitting there quite calmly. A thick-necked, heavyfellow, easily out of breath. But he was breathing calmly now.

  He sat up in amazement at my wild-eyed appearance, and the ash jarredfrom his cigar.

  "Gregg! What in the devil--"

  I tried to grin. "I'm on my way to bed--worked all night helpingSnap."

  I went past him, out the door into the main corridor. It was the onlyway the invisible prowler could have gone. But I was too late now--Icould hear nothing. I dashed forward into the main lounge. It wasempty, dim and silent, a silence broken presently by a faint click, astateroom door hastily closing. I swung and found myself in a tinytransverse passage. The twin doors of A20 and A22 were before me.

  The invisible eavesdropper had gone into one of these rooms! Ilistened at each of the panels, but there was only silence within.

  The interior of the ship was suddenly singing with the steward'ssiren--the call to awaken the passengers. It startled me. I movedswiftly away. But as the siren shut off, in the silence I heard asoft, musical voice:

  "Wake up, Anita, I think that's the breakfast call."

  And her answer, "All right, George."