Moon of Mutiny

by Lester Del Rey

  Fred was beginning to worry about his father. He heard a few of the news broadcasts beamed to the Base, and they didn't sound encouraging. Politics had never interested him; he couldn't untangle its complicated threads. Yet he sensed there was a struggle going on between two groups, catching his father between the two as in the jaws of a vise.

  He asked Dr. Sessions, and was immediately granted permission to put a call through to his father. There was little to report on the expedition, and no reason why a few minutes at the ship transmitter couldn't be turned over to him. At the other end, Colonel Halpern was far less available; Fred had to wait nearly half an hour before his father's voice came over the speaker.

  It was a tired voice, yet with an undernote of genuine pleasure in it. "Glad you could call me, son. Dr. Sessions reports you're doing fine."

  There was always a lag of seconds between the ends of a conversation across space; radio, like light, traveled only 186,000 miles a second, and the Station was about 250,000 miles away. It made awkward pauses, but it was something to which the speakers soon became accustomed.

  Fred reported a few of the things he'd done. Then he asked the question he most wanted answered. "How are things with you, Dad?"

  He must have managed to get his real meaning into his tone of voice, for his father laughed suddenly.

  "Freddy, things are a mess. But don't believe half of what you hear. I don't think they'll be able to kick me out of command for a while. By the time they can, it may be too late."

  In spite of the rumors and hints in the news, Fred had never seriously considered that anyone might want to remove his father from command; that Colonel Halpern would mention it made it suddenly seem real. Things must be coming to a head, but there was no chance to discuss the situation. His father dropped the subject and began passing on messages from others on the Station—seemingly needless messages—until Fred realized with the final one that there was a point to it.

  "Oh, yes. Major Wickman sends you his regards. He says he'll look you up the first chance he gets. I never knew you two felt so close."

  Fred grinned slowly. "We're both members of a little club called the Moon-boys," he answered.

  The laughter at the other end was well rehearsed. It almost masked the sudden relaxing in Colonel Halpern's voice as he realized his message had been properly interpreted. "Okay, son. Take care of yourself."

  "You, too, Dad," Fred said with more feeling than he'd meant to put in it.

  He realized as the official messages resumed that he and his father were actually closer in some ways across all this space than they had ever been when face to face. Maybe it was because they couldn't see each other, and weren't as afraid of their emotions.

  Certainly his father never had tried to let him know what seemed to be secret information before. That was the only possible interpretation to the message. Wick-man must be getting ready to make a flight to the Moon, since that was the only way he could "look up" Fred. The laughter at the idea of Wickman also being a "Moon-boy" confirmed it.

  Fred couldn't see that it would do any good to send the Cosmic Egg on such a voyage. There must be far more going on than he guessed. For a moment the old resentment rose in him. If this was important, it meant Wickman would be doing the things Fred had always hoped to find himself doing. Why Wickman?

  He put the idea out of his mind and went to the edge of the cliff to look down at the Administration hut. It was the time when the colony would be sleeping, but Gantry often stayed up far longer than most of the others. Fred knew this was his best chance to find the Governor alone. He headed down the crude stone stairs, toward the hut.

  Gantry was there, astonished to see Fred. He listened while the young man reported the conversation with his father. Fred would have liked to believe that the message was a personal one from his father, but he realized it was only a means of getting word to the colony in a manner which wouldn't leak back to Earth.

  "I don't know," Gantry said, when Fred finished. "Thanks for bringing the news, Fred. I must say it doesn't mean much to me. Oh, I know rumors are going around. I've heard too many rumors, usually about things that had nothing to do with us. Whenever men live on nothing but hope, you'll always find rumors."

  "You probably know what it means more than I do," Fred protested.

  Gantry nodded. "Maybe. I know there are some people who have wanted to do anything they could to help us. Your father is one of them, of course, but he's had to play a cautious role. I thought Ramachundra was another, but recent information makes me doubt it. Fred, when you come right down to it, your guess is as good as mine. Probably the new ship is being sent here on some kind of a test, and something about the trip is supposed to help us. I frankly don't see how it can matter, in the long run. I doubt that your father has any idea how close to failure we are."

  "Yeah." Fred was thinking of the ruined tractor, which helped force the colony that much closer to failure. He didn't bring it up, nor did Gantry seem to be thinking of it.

  The next day, the radio news reported that officers in the Ground Command section had been quizzed by the House committee investigating Station affairs. Following that, the head of the investigation released a resolution to the press demanding that the Cosmic Egg be taken out of the jurisdiction of the Space Agency and put back under the older Joint Military Command, on the theory that the Egg must not be restricted to flights between Earth and the Station. It was obviously a ruse, since no one had suggested the ship was to be used only for that. Colonel Halpern was asked to come to Earth immediately in order to testify before the investigating committee.

  Late at night another news flash came over. Colonel Halpern had refused to testify that week on the basis that technical difficulties at the Station required his presence. It was a refusal which seemed to convey no defiance of the committee, but they took it as such.

  Fred was fairly certain that his father had meant to defy them, and that any technical difficulties must have been created deliberately as an excuse. It was dangerous politics, he was sure; he knew that in the long run a committee could not be kept from making any investigation it chose. His father must be stalling for time; that indicated a desperation hard to accept.

  Yet he didn't worry about it too much. He'd developed an enormous faith in his father's ability to judge accurately any situation not concerned with family affairs.

  The work on the tractors was proceeding faster than Fred had thought possible. For one thing, Poorhouse and Boland proved to be a team who could work together reassembling the undercarriages as if they had trained for years at it. Fred was able to help, although he had to admit they were doing most of the work. They seemed to have an instinct which put both pairs of hands to work as if directed by a common brain.

  On the evening of the twentieth day—the expedition had fallen into the habit of dating everything from the time they first left Emmett Base—Dr. Sessions announced that the work was finished. Although much of the repair work was makeshift, he was satisfied that the tractors were in better condition than they had been before the first trip. Almost three weeks had been lost from the original schedule, but some of the loss might be made up. Everyone was now more adjusted to life here, and Sessions hoped there would be less difficulty from bad habits once they reached the exploration site.

  They could have pulled out at once, but he picked the middle of the next day—or twenty-four hour period— for departure. By then the sun would be rising in the east, making long, harsh shadows that were a nuisance, but the light would cause the least trouble when it was behind them. Their pace should bring them to the cache and the untried mountain range with the light still at their rear. Such light should be helpful in spotting a possible route over the range.

  Fred realized this would require their making about the same speed going back as had been possible on the return to Base. The tractors and trailers now were heavily loaded with supplies. The cab of his tractor was filled until there was hardly room for two men besides him
self. It would be rough going, but Sessions must have considered that.

  Sessions pulled something out of an envelope and spread it out. "One more thing," he said. "I've got a resolution here, signed by twenty of you. I suppose it has to be taken care of. Mr. Halpern, this concerns you, so I suggest you read it before we dispose of the matter."

  Fred glanced at it, shock running through him. It was a petition to Dr. Sessions asking to have Fred Halpern replaced as a tractor driver and left behind with the other pilots. There were a lot of reasons—according to the first, he hadn't signed on as a regular member, but as a pilot. But the final one was the key. It was the belief of those signing that the number of accidents and difficulties in which he had been involved, though not clearly his responsibility, proved that he was a potential danger to the entire expedition.

  It was signed, as Dr. Sessions had said, by twenty out of the twenty-seven other members of the expedition.

  Chapter 11 Signs of Life

  there were angry expressions on a number o£ faces as Fred handed the paper back to the leader. Obviously they hadn't intended the petition to be read by the man against whom it was drawn. Sessions took it and ripped it slowly to shreds.

  "I don't run this expedition by petition," he said. "You were all signed on with the clear understanding that I was to lead. I intend to. There has to be one man responsible in a business like this, and he has to have sole responsibility. If anyone wishes to withdraw now, he may do so. Otherwise, you'll accept my decisions with no further attempts to change them. Well?"

  There were no offers to quit. He had expected none.

  "All right then, the petition is rejected." He relaxed a little. "I appreciate the fact that seven of you didn't sign this nasty little document, though. Fred, you'll take the lead tractor, as usual. We leave at noon, Earth Greenwich time, so I'd like to go over the route with you, if you'll come with me."

  It was the only way to relieve a bad situation; Fred was glad to follow him to the cab of the tractor. However they had already been over the route thoroughly.

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  "Maybe you should have dropped me, sir," he suggested as they sat down. He couldn't blame the signers, though it hurt.

  Sessions shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not. If I gave in on this, there wouldn't be a thing done from now on without arguments, petitions, and haggling—no group like this can work that way. Besides, I happen to think you've been doing a good job, and I'll stick by you. I told your father you were one of the best men I had, and I meant it. I still mean it."

  Fred tried to thank him, but he couldn't find words. Sessions brushed it aside and stood up. "They'll need a chance to gripe and grumble, so wait a while before you go back. You won't have any trouble then. I'm going to see Governor Gantry."

  He was right, Fred found. When the boy slipped into the bunkroom, there were a few sullen looks and some awkwardness, but nobody said anything. Boland clapped him on the back as he went by. "Better turn in, kid. You've got a hard day ahead."

  It was a hard day, though not because of the driving. It was difficult to avoid thinking of those who resented him or acting overly grateful to the ones who hadn't signed the petition. The work of driving the tractor helped. The change in light took up most of his attention at first. The sun was barely above the horizon, distorting everything.

  Every rock seemed like a long projection as its dense shadow stretched away from it. Every crack in the surface appeared to be a black pit. It was something like the effect of the headlights, yet worse because the whole surface was lit. Nevertheless, it was far better than driving into the setting sun. In time, as they got accustomed to them, the effects of light and shadow began to become clearer.

  They were moving westward at almost the same speed as the terminator—the sharp line between night and day. There was no true dawn or twilight, since there was no air to diffuse light, so the separation was nearly as sharp between light and dark as if it had been printed. This meant they would make most of the trip under the same conditions. It would give them all the practice they needed before crossing the chain of mountains beyond the cache.

  The tractors were behaving perfectly, and they were making good time. Dr. Sessions was planning to keep moving, using relief drivers, and there seemed no mechanical reason for questioning the safety of his decision. The men would arrive at the final destination a little more tired, a small price to pay for the time saved.

  Through the first day it seemed to Fred that everyone was watching liim, as if to see what his reaction to the petition might be. He did his best to show nothing, aware that anything which might split the group into quarreling factions must be avoided. After the final stop for dinner, there seemed to be a gradual relaxing. Nothing was said, but most of the men began treating him as they had done before the trouble. Perhaps they even seemed more friendly. Talk was close to normal in the dormitory trailer before he went to sleep.

  This time the pass through the mountains—the pass used on the trip back to Base—was familiar to them. They hardly had to slacken speed as they drove on. The only change was the need to turn on their headlights after the first few miles, when the cliffs cut off the sun. Light glared against the rocks far above them and was reflected down, but it was too unreliable for driving. Even after they were through the peaks, for many miles the shadow of the mountains left them in a world of darkness.

  This time they could follow their own trail through the plains. The dust tended to settle back under its own weight, but the passage of the vehicles had left enough traces for a sharp eye. Having proved safe once, the trail could be followed at full speed.

  They reached the cache on the twenty-fifth day "after Base." Here they stopped to readjust some of the load. Fred's tractor remained a little cramped with extra oxygen bottles, food, water and other necessities, while half of the load was transferred to the small trailers. These were hitched onto the tractors, as was the laboratory headquarters.

  They set out again with full supplies. They were better stocked now than they would have been had no trouble arisen. The amount they brought on this trip was more than had been used before; to that extent, the expedition was better off.

  The mountains, which had looked impenetrable in the darkness, were now broken by chasms and gorges that offered some hope of a trail through them. Sessions studied them against his map. Finally he selected what seemed to be the best way through. If no pass could be found, the tractors would have to make a detour of more than two hundred miles around the end of the mountain chain.

  The dawn light aided them at first. The sun was shining directly into the openings through the first ranges, and they could see most of the obstacles well in advance. It might prove more difficult once they were well into the ugly peaks, but they could turn back in the light if there was no way through.

  Within a few miles, they began to run into areas where the light was poor, or where picking a trail was a matter of difficult decision. Sessions sent men ahead when possible to survey the route. Once a man got a few hundred feet higher than the trail, it was often easier to find ways that could be negotiated easily. A team of two men moved more rapidly than the tractors dared, and human legs were able to climb where no tractor could.

  Halfway through the mountains, things got more difficult. The center of a range always seemed rougher; toward the outer sections, the number of passages increased. The light was totally unreliable now. It glared down from the peaks, reflecting the sunlight; by the time it was reflected back and forth several times, it was too weak to help.

  They came to a sharp break finally. Here the trail dropped away into a fissure a hundred feet across and impassable even for men on ropes. On the other side the route they had followed seemed to go on, but the problem was to find a way around the fissure. The photographs were useless for discovering such a path.

  Boland had been driving. Fred went to volunteer for one of the survey teams. Sessions looked doubtful, but agreed. "Better take Dr. Wallace. He's ready t
o go out."

  There were two teams this time, each carrying a powerful battery and light. They were going to backtrack to a lower section, then follow that to what might be a road to the bottom of the fissure. There Fred and Wallace would work their way up to the trail beyond the fissure to see whether it would do, while the second team was to explore another possibility to the left, where a ledge seemed to jut out far enough to serve as a road for the tractors. The second group would be made up of Dr. Villiers, the biologist, and a small, pleasant man named Whitley.

  The path branching off from the one they had followed led directly to the bottom of the fissure. Finding a way up to the continuation of the trail beyond the fissure proved to be tricky, though. Fred located a way up which they could climb but it was not adequate for the tractors. They hoped to do better hunting from above.

  Their radios were permanently open, so he heard Villiers and Whitley moving along their route.

  "We're twisting around down here," the biologist said. His signal was no longer coming in directly. It bounced off the rocky walls and was reflected to them. "It looks as if we'll wind up back on top with you."

  Wallace motioned Fred to follow and struck out to see whether they could locate a place where the lower path climbed up to meet the one they were on. They were just rounding a turn with Wallace ahead when Fred stopped abruptly. He'd seen something in the reflection from his light and failed to recognize it at first. Now it hit him. He called out to Wallace and went back quickly.

  It took a little searching, then his light caught it at just the right angle. He yelled at what was before him. It wasn't very impressive. Reaching to a height of not

  more than four or five inches, it grew out of a small crack in a rocky section. He would never have seen it except by accident. Small as it was, it could be the most important thing ever found on the Moon. It looked like a living plant.