City on the Moon

by Murray Leinster

  It was a moon-jeep. It came with extraordinary silence up to where the vacuum flare burned crimson. It stopped. A bulky figure already swung down the rope ladder.

  "Mike!" rumbled a new voice in the headphones. "Joe! You two crazy fools! Why didn't you keep talkin'? We've been goin' crazy, Haney and me! Trying to find your ship . . . If we hadn't run across your trail, we'd never have got to you!"

  Arlene said politely, "Hello, Chief." Then she blacked out.

  CHAPTER X. ABANDON THE LABORATORY

  Joe Kenmore woke in the jeep that had picked him up with his companions. He found himself lying on its metal floor, being twitched this way and that as the jeep rolled at cruising speed over the gentle undulations of the Mare Imbrium. He smelled oil, and ozone, and hot metal. But also he smelled coffee.

  He got to his feet, groggily. Arlene Gray lay on an improvised bunk in the rear of the cabin, still sleeping. The jeep, he knew, was headed for Civilian City. A very considerable number of hours had passed, but the lunar night still held. Earthshine bathed all that could be seen, but that was not very much in terms of scenery. Earth, overhead, now began to show the suspicion of a shadow at its western edge. It was now past full—corresponding to lunar midnight. It moved toward third-quarter, which was predawn on the moon.

  "Food's a great invention," said Kenmore, as he moved past clutters of machinery in the jeep's cabin. "Give me some!"

  Haney handed him a mug of coffee—one of those very special drinking mugs which had a great vogue on Earth, once, because they wouldn't spill liquid but could still be drunk from. Kenmore settled down on one of the folding seats for extra passengers. The same lean Haney began to build a sandwich, competently slapping down the slices of bread when the jeep's motion sent them floating in the air.

  "Mike," said the dark-skinned chief amiably, "has been telling us about the doings over at the City."

  Kenmore grunted assent. The chief, driving, said over his shoulder, "Plenty of trouble; How're you going to get that code stuff to the Laboratory—if it's as important as Mike says?"

  "The Earthship," said Kenmore dourly, "has a crumpled landing fin and some cracked ports and the like. It's toppled over. It's got to be gotten aloft with that message-according to what I think Earth will say. That is probably impossible, but I'm working on it in my mind. If it has to be done—"

  The chief was a Mohawk Indian. He said in mild derision, "If Big Chief Man-in-the-Moon says so, us braves will take a whack at it. Is it a bad smash?"

  "Arlene walked away from it, which may mean anything."

  The chief speculated amiably. "Is that order so important because they've got it figured out back on Earth that the gang in the Laboratory has gone nuts, or because it hasn't? Could be either."

  Remote as it was, the Space Laboratory was as much in the minds of all of them as their own immediate situation. They were on the moon because of it, and Civilian City had been built and maintained to serve it. There was no civilian activity off the Earth which had not ultimately been devised for the purpose of making the Laboratory possible.

  The moon-jeep rumbled on, over the dust-covered sea which once had been molten rock. Presently Mike Scandia awoke, and Kenmore pounced on him for exact and detailed information about the situation. Mike gulped coffee and told what he knew. It wasn't much more than he'd already indicated to Joe, but in the context of the Laboratory's purpose, it was appalling. A long, long distance away on the other side of the moon— a fifth as far away as Earth—was a minute, man-made object floating out in emptiness; it could not be seen from nearside on the moon. In this small, compartmented metal case, eight men lived in the greatest danger men had ever volunteered to face. The Space Laboratory was an atomic-energy workshop. It contained fissionable materials which could blast it and its occupants to radioactive gas at the temperature of the sun's very heart. No more than a moment's carelessness would be required to bring that about.

  There was an energy-field which, in theory, should affect even neutrons; the mathematics of it were still largely speculative. There were facts yet to be discovered. If thus-and-so was the fact—why, power could be had for all the imaginable needs of Earth for all time to come; and nothing but power could be released. But if the fact was such-and-such—why, it was possible for any type of matter, though as thin as the gases in the vacuum of an electric-light bulb, to form a sun. In that case, the Laboratory's labors were futile or worse.

  In any case, the experiments were dangerous, so the Laboratory hung in space, where the gravity of the moon was almost perfectly balanced by the orbital speed of the Laboratory around the Earth itself. It was a dead spot, some forty thousand miles out. Had there been only local attraction to consider, the Laboratory would have stayed there for all time. But solar gravitation entered into the picture, and once in two weeks—or four, or six—a-small rocket had to be fired to put the Laboratory back at the center of the dead space from which it had wandered.

  And the eight men there tried nerve-rackingly to find out whether the facts of subatomic physics were thus-and-so, or such-and-such. They were that far out in space to guard against the possibility that the facts might be such-and-such. In such a case, the proof would be announced by the sudden appearance of a blue-white ball of vaporized metal and human flesh and technical supplies where the Laboratory had been. Obviously, it would not be a good idea for such a discovery to be made on the moon; the moon itself could explode. And that would be very inconvenient, because everybody on moon and Earth would die. When the jeep from the spotter station neared the City, Kenmore took his place by the chief at the controls. He itched to take over and drive himself, but forbore. A long time had passed; the soft-edged shadow at the eastern border of Earth was a hairbreadth wider. There were no other changes anywhere. And Kenmore watched across the twilit moondust until there came an irregularity in the sharp line of the horizon ahead. Then the sky was not blotted out with geometric precision at the horizon. Mountain peaks occluded stars. Kenmore watched until the peaks looked right.

  He told the chief, who stopped, turned off the outside lights, and squinted at the outline of the mountains. "The City'll be off to the right," he said wisely, "so it's likely the Earthship will be that way, too. You wanna watch from the observation-blister, Joe? Mike, you watch out this way, and Haney, you watch out that."

  Arlene was awake now; she had been for hours. She said urgently, "Isn't there something I can do?"

  "You did plenty in the Shuttle," Mike told her. "Sit still."

  The moon-jeep swung off to the right and traveled all of twenty miles; it went a mile closer to the mountains and came back to the line of its original course, then went a mile closer . . .

  In time, they found the wreck of the Earthship. It lay on its side in the dust that looked like snow. The jeep moved up close; Kenmore, Haney, and the chief went out to look it over. The ship had been down and empty for hours before Kenmore first found it; a long time had passed since then. And the temperature of the night-side of the moon is lower than that of liquid air. So the three of them burned vacuum flares around the wreck and waited patiently. The crimson-red torches looked strange against a field of moondust, under ten thousand myriads of stars. But the brittle-point of the steel used for space hulls is very low; just a few degrees of surface temperature makes a lot of difference.

  Presently they went inside, and the Earthship's ports poured streaks of crimson light out into the night. They were burning other vacuum flares inside. Nothing could catch fire, of course, because there was no air; but wood and cloth, and many metals, would be as brittle as ice or glass at the temperature to which they'd fallen.

  After another long time, the trio came out. Kenmore was carrying a lady's suitcase, and Haney and the chief bore other things. They came one by one into the jeep and Kenmore said dryly, "Your luggage, Arlene. Now you can dress up when you feel like it. Some of Cecile Ducros' stuff is here too."

  The jeep stirred and went on; it swung toward the mountains. Presently
a very small light shone above the plain and the jeep trundled toward it.

  They saw no change in the look of things when they arrived. There was the one light above the central dome. There were the same innumerable jeep tracks around and about the three dust-heaps which were part of the hope of humanity for contentment on Earth, and high adventure in the stars. But there didn't seem to be much to hope for now.

  When they entered, there was light inside the main dome, and Pitkin was puttering among the growing plants. He beamed at Kenmore and Arlene and Mike as —vacuum-suited—they emerged from the airlock. Then he blinked at sight of the two spotter-post men following them.

  "Ho!" he said. "Scientists from the Laboratory, hey? To tell us how to mend the City? We do all right!"

  "We didn't do all right," said Kenmore. "And they're not from the Laboratory. Any news?"

  "No news," said Pitkin, beaming. "None!"

  Kenmore went into the air dome and found Cecile Ducros in the foulest of tempers. Osgood, the pilot of the Earthship, looked as if he definitely had the wind up. For a man from Earth, that was reasonable enough. Osgood could not imagine ever getting back to Earth with his ship toppled on its side and airless on a lunar sea. But Lezd, the electronics technician, looked up impassively from where he worked on a photograph to be used in some future broadcast to Earth.

  "Are we still able to talk to Earth?" demanded Kenmore.

  Lezd nodded. Joe Kenmore flung away to the communicator. Grimly, he reported to Earth exactly what had happened to the Shuttle-rocket. He had not been able to deliver the high-priority message to the Laboratory. The Shuttle-ship was wrecked; sabotage.

  There came a sharp command for him to wait. He waited, fuming. In five minutes a very high authority indeed came face to face with him on the screen. The High Authority's face was lined, and his teeth chattered as he spoke.

  There was nothing on Earth or moon more important than the immediate delivery of that message to the Space Laboratory. It must be gotten there somehow. The fate of all humanity depended on it!

  Kenmore growled, "There are service ships that supply the missile bases! Why not send one of them?"

  There was no possibility of a service ship's arrival on time; the moon could not be reached from Earth in less than six days of travel. This message must reach the Space Laboratory immediately! The destruction of the Shuttle and the delay it involved—nearly thirty hours altogether—might already have doomed humanity I Six days more were unthinkable!

  "There are such things as physical possibilities," said Kenmore indignantly. "How about the people of Civilian City? Are they safe?"

  The High Authority gibbered. They had not yet been found; they were being searched for by jeeps from the missile bases. They were somewhere—lost—ambushed— murdered, perhaps. But the Laboratory must be reached and ordered to stop all experiment—especially all experiment along the line mentioned in the last technical report! It must be stopped, stopped, stopped; the Laboratory must be abandoned; it must be destroyed! The orders must be delivered immediately! And—The High Authority wrung his hands.

  "In that case," said Joe Kenmore bitterly, "I'll attend to it."

  But he regarded the communicator savagely after he had flicked it off. The abandonment of the Space Laboratory meant the abandonment of anything resembling an attempt to reach other planets, let alone the stars! It meant that Civilian City would be abandoned, too, and all the work and struggle, and the lives lost, for a high hope of splendor were so much waste. The entire accomplishment was to be written off as so much futility. Mankind would return to Earth and stay there forever.

  But there was urgency in the commands he'd received; if the lives of the missing citizens of the City did not count more than the need of stopping work at the Laboratory—why, the work at the Lab must be stopped.

  CHAPTER XI. DESPERATION TAKE-OFF

  He WENT in search of the spotter-station men who'd found him on the lava sea. The big brown man who'd piloted the jeep was regarding Cecile Ducros with vast admiration. Haney, the other spotter-station man, was in the act of devouring delicacies especially brought moonward for her.

  "Chief!" said Kenmore angrily. "Haney! Moreau! Mike! I want you!"

  He jerked his still-mittened hand toward the other dome. They followed him. Arlene came after them. "What's the matter?" she asked anxiously, once in the main dome.

  "Plenty! We've got a mildly impossible job to do. Now . . ."

  He began to outline, crisply, what would be needed. They had inspected the crashed Earthship. One landing fin was crumpled; there were cracked ports. There was at least one tear in the hull-plating. The ship had no air, and it had chilled nearly to the surface temperature of the moon at night; it would be utterly brittle and not much like a thing made of metal. But with enough flares, it could be warmed past the brittle-point; and with the materials on board for emergency repairs in space—but there never had been and never would be time to make repairs in space—it could be sealed up. Air snow could be carried from the city to refill its air tanks. Rockets could be carried to it, too . . .

  "Yeah?" asked Mike Scandia ironically. "Cross-marked like they are?"

  "You'll check on that," commanded Kenmore. "The odds are that the original markings were only painted over, and false ones put on top; scrape the paint and it'll show. The rest of you come along!"

  They made for the vacuum-suit racks. Arlene said, "I'm coming, too!"

  He frowned at her.

  "I know the last trip was bad, but am I safer in the City than with you?"

  He shrugged; she wasn't—despite the Shuttle-ship sabotage. She climbed back into a suit and topped its air tanks with a professional air. He watched to make sure. She said in a low tone, "How bad is it, Joe?"

  "As bad as it could be," he said bitterly. "We're all going back to Earth—if we live."

  Arlene looked at him sharply. Kenmore's expression was unrelieved resentment. She slipped on her helmet without a word. If, in its concealment, she looked hopeful rather than depressed, it did not show.

  They loaded the spotter-station jeep with materials from the outside storage sheds. Outside storage was best on the moon. There was no weather, and supplies kept perfectly in places where sunlight never struck, even at second-hand. Even air did not need pressure tanks for storage. It was a solid; it was snow—or a cloudy, faintly-bluish ice. They took vacuum flares by scores. They took oxhydrogen torches. They took this, and that, and the other equipment. They sealed up the jeep's cargo compartment and climbed one by one into the cabin through the airlock.

  They headed for the wrecked and airless ship. On the way, the chief said meditatively, "It's toppled; it's got to point up to take off."

  Kenmore growled half a dozen words. They had two jeeps; that was explanation enough. They rode in one, and Mike Scandia would presently drive the limping, battered other jeep out with a load of rockets. The wheels of all jeeps could be raised and lowered. They carried their large burdens slung underneath, and they crouched over them while they were fastened firmly, and then rose up. When both jeeps were available, they would get under the nose of the Earthship and then rise with it. Moving inward, they would get it at least partly upright; then cables and towing winches would haul it erect. The jeeps could hold the ship upright while the crumpled fin was cut away and rewelded more nearly straight.

  Kenmore drove, his features dark and scowling. Moreau said apologetically, "I am not handy in such matters. What will I do?"

  "You'll warm the ship's inside with flares," said Arlene confidently, "and I'll watch out the observation-blister in case—well, in case somebody wants to interfere."

  Kenmore's expression changed a little. It was curious that finding the saboteurs seemed less important than the disaster to which—it now appeared—they had only contributed. Yet it was still possible that whoever had waylaid Moreau and himself, and damaged the City, and all too probably was responsible for the disappearance of the City's population—might come to interfere
with work on the Earthship. The irony lay in the fact that saboteurs no longer needed to commit murder in order to destroy the City and the Laboratory. Both were to be abandoned, anyhow.

  Miles and miles out in the lunar sea, they came to the toppled ship; what followed looked like a scene in some inferno. Glaring red vacuum flares burned fiercely on the moondust, their light reflected from the bright plating of the ship. Other flares burned inside, showing through the ports like furnace openings in the hull.

  But the labor was swift and well-ordered. Cracked, smashed ports vanished—sealed shut with sheets of plastic. An oxhydrogen torch flamed luridly, surrounded by a tiny cloud of microscopic snowflakes; it welded together the rent in the hull plating. The vacuum-suited workers glittered in the weird glare, and the moondust glowed a blinding crimson.

  Flares burned out and were replaced. Presently, Arlene called anxiously on helmet-phone frequency that something moved out at the edge of the light. But Mike Scandia's voice came fretfully into their several headphones. "This infernal bumping wheel! Pitkin said it would fall off, and I've been expecting it to go any second!"

  The limping jeep emerged from the blackness all about. Its cargo door was open and great wire-wound rockets stuck out and a bundle of other monsters dangled from chains between its wheels.

  "I got Pitkin to help me load up," said Mike peevishly. "I checked the markings; some of them were just painted over, and new numbers painted on. But when I looked for that, I could tell. I guarantee those to be as marked, now!"

  He came wriggling out of his airlock. Kenmore said, "Hold it, Mike! Handle that jeep for me!"

  There followed a crisp and highly technical discussion in the total silence of airlessness. But helmet antennas glittered as figures moved or gestured, and the squat vacuum-suited figure which was Mike moved to survey the exact situation of the ship. Presently he scrambled back into his jeep; the chief entered the airlock of the other, and the spidery vehicles performed a task unthinkable for them on Earth.