by Jeff Sutton
CHAPTER 11
"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 towardthe 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 standingby 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 mainconsole'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 Ifound what had happened." He reached over and turned a knob. After a fewseconds a hum came from the console. "Works," he said.
"See how quickly you can make repairs," Crag ordered. "We've got to hookonto the drone pretty quick."
He swung impatiently toward Nagel. "Was anyone up during your watch? Didanyone go to the commode?"
Nagel said defensively: "No, and I was awake all the time." Toodefensive, Crag thought. But no one had stirred during his watch.Therefore, the sabotage had occurred between midnight and the time Nagelwakened Prochaska. But, wait ... Prochaska could have done the sabotagein the few moments he was at the console after Nagel woke him. It wouldhave taken just one quick slash--the work of seconds. That left him inthe 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 ridof 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 itisn'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 severalminutes to raise Alpine. He wasn't surprised when Gotch answered, andbriefly related what had happened.
"Is there any possibility of telemetering her all the way in?" He knewthere 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 notcomplimentary. He got the distinct impression the Colonel wasn't pleasedwith events on the moon. When his cold voice faded from thecommunicator, Crag tried the analog. The grid scope came to life but itwas blank. Of course, he thought, Drone Baker was cut off from earth bythe body of the moon. It could not be simulated on the analog until itcame from behind the blind side where the earth saucers could track itsflight.
"Morning," Larkwell said, sticking his head around the curtain. "Howabout climbing into your suits so we can get out of this can?" Cragstudied his face. It seemed void of any guile. Nagel stood nervouslybehind him.
"Okay," Crag said shortly. He hated to have Prochaska lose the preciousmoments. They hurriedly donned their suits and Nagel decompressed thecabin, Larkwell opened the hatch and they left. Crag closed it afterthem and released fresh oxygen into the cabin. Richter took off his suitand returned to his corner. His eyes were bright with interest. Heknows, Crag thought.
At 0630 the communicator came to life. A voice at the other end gaveDrone Baker's position and velocity as if nothing had happened. Thedrone, on the far side of the moon, was decelerating, dropping as servomechanisms operating on timers activated its blasters. It was guidedsolely by the radio controlled servos, following a flight pathpreviously determined by banks of computers. Everything was in apple-pieorder, except for the snafu in Arzachel, Crag thought bitterly.
Prochaska worked silently, swiftly. Crag watched with a helplessfeeling. There wasn't room for both of them to work at one time. TheChief's head and arms literally filled the opening of the sabotagedconsole. Once he snapped for more light and Crag beamed a torch over hisshoulder, fretting from the inaction.
Sounds came through the rear bulkhead where Larkwell and Nagel wereworking in the tail section. Strange, Crag thought, to all appearanceseach 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 logicalsuspect were it not for the episode of the time bomb. No, it hadn't beenthe German. It was either the competent Prochaska, the sullen Nagel orthe somehow cheerful but inscrutable Larkwell. But there should be aclue. If only he knew what to look for. Well, he'd find it. When hedid ... He clenched his fists savagely.
At 0715 Alpine simulated the drone on the analog. Fifteen minutes laterProchaska pulled his head from the console and asked Crag to try thescope. It worked.
"Now if I can get those damn wires that control the steering and brakingrockets ..." 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 andGotch 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. Prochaskamoved his head to indicate maybe. The communicator was silent. Cragwatched the master chrono.
At 0812 Prochaska was still buried in the panel. Crag's dismaygrew--dismay and a sense of guilt over the sabotage. Gotch had warnedhim against the possibility innumerable times. Now it had happened. Theloss of Drone Able had been a bad blow; the loss of Baker could befatal, not only to the success of their mission but to their survival.
Survival meant an airlock and the ability to live on their scantsupplies until Arzachel was equipped to handle incoming rockets on abetter-than-chance basis. Well, one thing at a time, he thought. Hesuppressed the worry nagging at his mind. Just now it was Drone Baker'sturn at bat.
At 0813 Prochaska sprang to his feet and nodded. Crag barked an okayinto the communicator while the Chief got his bearings on theinstruments. Crag hoped the lost minute wouldn't be fatal. By 0814Prochaska had the drone under control. It was 90,000 feet over Alphonstraveling at slightly better than a thousand miles per hour. He hit thebraking rockets hard.
"We're not going to make it," he gritted. He squinted his eyes. His facewas 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 brakingrockets were blasting continuously. Crag studied the instruments. It wasgoing to be close. By the instrument data they couldn't make it. DroneBaker seemed doomed. It was too high, moving too fast despite the lavishwaste 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 at3,000 feet. Too high, Crag half-whispered. The difference lay in thelost minute. Prochaska pushed and held the controls. Crag pictured therocket, bucking, vibrating, torn by the conflict of energies within itsfragile body.
Prochaska fingered the steering rockets and pushed the drone's noseupward. Crag saw it through the port. It rushed through space in askidding fashion before it began to move upward from the face of themoon. Prochaska hit the braking jets with full power. Crag craned hishead to follow its flight.
Out of one corner of his eye he saw Nagel andLarkwell on the plain, their helmeted heads turned skyward. He scrunchedhis face hard against the port and caught the drone at the top of itsclimb.
It was a slender needle with light glinting on its tail--the Sword ofDamocles hanging above their heads. It hung ... suspended in space ...then began backing down, dropping stern first with flame and white vaporpouring from its tail jets. It came fast. Occasional spurts from radialjets around its nose kept its body perpendicular to the plain. Vaporfrom the trail fluffed out hiding the body of the rocket. The flamelicked out while the rocket was still over a hundred feet in the air.
Prochaska cursed softly. The rocket seemed riveted to the black sky fora fraction of a second before it began to fall. Faster ... faster. Itsmashed into the lunar surface, lost from sight.
"Exit Baker," Prochaska said woodenly. Quietly Crag got on thecommunicator and reported to Gotch. There was a brief silence when hehad finished.
Finally Gotch said, "Drone Charlie will be launched on schedule. We'llhave to reassess our logistics, though. Maybe we'd better knock off theidea of the airlock-in-the-gully idea and shoot along extra oxygen andsupplies instead. How does the meteorite problem look?"
"Lousy," said Crag irritably. "We've had a scary near miss. I wouldn'tbet on being able to survive too long in the open. Again there was asilence.
"You'll have to," Gotch said slowly, "unless you can salvage Baker'scargo."
"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 outthe road grader immediately."
"Don't be facetious," Gotch reprimanded. "We have a problem to workout."
"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 rolledinto one. He wrinkled his face bitterly. Still he had to admire theColonel'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.