"We don't have any," one of the guards said. "We've thrown them away. All liquor, too. We've gotten rid of all things that weaken the human body. Now, shut up!" Broward sighed. He was indeed among fanatics. "We could rush them, force them to kill us," said Broward in a low voice to Moshe. "We'd at least not die like chickens trussed up for the slaughter."
"If there was a chance of getting away from them," said Moshe, "I'd do it. But there isn't. No, we're not dead yet Maybe we can do something when we're on the ship."
"Break out of stasis? You know better."
"I don't know better. All I know is that things have a way of coming up unexpected, unpredictable. It's like an unimaginably vast roulette wheel. You never know where the ball's going. True, the odds are in the House's favor, but you still have a chance to win."
"It's a shame that a man like you has to die," murmured Broward.
But he thought, Moshe is right. And as long as there are men like Moshe, man has a chance of surviving. There must be others like him, not only on the Moon and Mars and Ganymede and Mercury, but in this place under the sea on Earth and only God knew how many other places on Earth.
Only God knew.... how often that phrase was used in a supposedly Godless society by Godless men. Of course, its frequency was explained as being an archaic cliche, a figure-of-speech survival that did not mean anything. Katashkina entered the room. She said, "Let's go. Everything's ready."
A car was waiting for them; this had a back seat over which a transparent bubble was placed. It was raised, and the two were forced to sit under it. The bubble was lowered and clamped magnetically. Katashkina and a guard got into the front seat, and the other two followed in another vehicle.
After that, events happened so swiftly that Yamanuchi and Broward were bewildered. The two cars shot down the tunnel and into the harbor. Here was a group of six men: a colonel, a captain, and four enlisted men. The car stopped. The bubble was raised. The prisoners were taken into their ship by Katashkina and two guards. The colonel and the captain started to follow them, but she said, "I am in charge. You two are not needed."
The colonel protested, but she said, harshly, "If you don't believe me, contact Pyotr. That is, if you want to take the chance of angering him. He doesn't like his orders questioned."
"I was told that I was in charge," the colonel said.
"Then the breakdown in communications should be investigated," she replied. "There's inefficiency and incompetency somewhere along the line."
The colonel scowled, but he stepped back. He was still looking perplexed when she shut the port.
The two guards were startled by this, but they said nothing. Nor did they speak when Katashkina pulled her automatic from her holster and ordered them to drop their weapons. Like the prisoners, they were stunned.
"No time to explain now," she said to Moshe. "Take the controls. Do as I say."
Moshe smiled as if he could not believe what was happening, but he obeyed. She then placed her finger on the button that actuated the port, and she said to the guards, "I'm opening this just far enough for you to squeeze out one at a time. Go!"
The first to the port, a large red-faced man, had to turn sideways to get through. For a second, he struggled, and Katashkina opened the port a little more. Before he could take advantage of the increased space, there were shots from outside, and he fell back under the impact of the bullets. His legs, however, were sticking out of the ship.
"Take it away," she said. Moshe touched the controls, and the ship rose and sped across the harbor, then up. Katashkina glanced at her wristwatch. "The ports are set to allow us exit. If the settings aren't countermanded in time, we'll get away. If not... Broward, shove that body out. We have to close the port."
Broward leaped to do as she said. He raised the dead man with one motion and flung the corpse outwards. It fell forwards, and the port began to close.
"Dive!"
Moshe changed the course so abruptly that those standing fell to the deck. But she kept her gun on the guard, and he made no move to jump at her. Then, the craft struck the surface, and water flooded in and rose to their ankles before the port was entirely closed. It spurted through the narrowing space and drenched all within the cabin.
"We're through the tunnel and going up," said Moshe. The screen that showed the area above them portrayed the huge port sliding to one side; it shone dull and heavy in the lights of the beams.
"Pyotr will have gotten my note by now," Katashkina said. "I told him that if he doesn't let us out, I'll have no choice except to set off the bomb. We'll die, but so will everybody. He'll know I'm not bluffing. I also told him that we won't reveal what happened here to the Moon, that we have no intention of going there."
"What?" said Broward. "Where in hell do you think we can go?"
"I've been planning for some time on getting away," she said. "I don't like Pyotr, and I don't like his ideas for our brave new world. I pretended to agree with him in every particular. But he made me sick. Especially since I knew him more intimately than anybody. I should, I was his mistress. I'm carrying his child."
Moshe made a strangled sound, but he kept his eyes on the viewplates. By then, they were out of the tower and rising towards the surface. Broward said, "We've four seats.. That means that, if we're to make any speed, we have to go into stasis. It's a good thing we got rid of the other guard. If we hadn't, where would we have put him?"
"I know," she said. "I was planning on getting rid of both, but I knew that the colonel and his men might lose their heads and fire at the first one to come out. So..."
"You're a cool one," said Broward. "What do we do about..." he looked at the man's name, on the label over the right breast... "Schwartz?"
"You have two choices and two only," she said to Schwartz. '"You can throw in your lot completely with us, forget forever about Pyotr. Or you can be put down on the surface. We can't take you back there. Nor, even if you succeeded in overpowering us and taking the ship back yourself, could you go back. Pyotr would think the ship would be an enemy, and he'd shoot first and investigate later."
Schwartz, a handsome youth with curly brown hair and big brown eyes, said, "I don't have any choice if I want to live. You know I'd die horribly if you put me down on the outside."
"You're still living," said Moshe. "All right, Katashkina, you must have something in mind."
"I had thought that you would be the one to say where we will go," she replied.
Moshe smiled as if he had known what she would say. "When I first saw you, I thought that God had shown me the way. He had chosen me, not because I was the best but because I was the only. Rather, he had chosen me as the half of a tool. The other was missing, and I did not know where it was. Then, I was sent here, and I found you. I rejoiced. I also was miserable. Despite myself, I was being forced to accept a role I didn't want. First, human beings insisted that I was a Jew. Them, I could fight against. But when God Himself, a God I told myself I hadn't believed in, when God insisted, then I surrendered. Here was a Jewess. One like me, perhaps, a woman who didn't want the role any more than I did but who was being turned into a path not of her own choosing by something greater than she."
"There is no voice out of the burning bush," continued Moshe. "There doesn't have to be. I've been shown things that have unmistakably pointed the way and told me what I was to do. I didn't want to; I rebelled; I scoffed at myself and at God. Yet, the... still small voice... call it what you will, told me."
"I know. Just as I knew that you would come and just as I knew what I would have to do when you came."
"I'm not even sure of all the ceremonies, the traditions," said Moshe. "I've forgotten much. And we don't have the Book."
"There's one on the ship," she said. "As a psychology officer, I had access to many things forbidden to the public. So, I placed the Book in the storage hold when I came aboard to make an official investigation. I wasn't questioned about the things I was doing here."
"And we have food enough
for two for several months," he said.
"What can you do?" asked Broward.
"We're not going to Mercury or to Ganymede. Sooner or later, Scone is going to get into contact with them. If he found me there... it's true that there are caverns on Ganymede, but it would take a lot of equipment to furnish the means for living in them. And there's always the chance that the others there might find us.
"Now, there must be many places on Earth that have not been wrecked, underground places, I mean. And there is enough equipment on Earth, scattered here and there but still retrievable. And if the equipment is radioactive, we can decontaminate it. So..."
Ten hours later, they were in a place made to order, capitalized Made To Order, as Moshe said, and prepared for them. It was one of the thousands of undersea stations established by the U.S.S.W. for the little colonies of sea-farmers engaged in harvesting the sea and raising food for the billions of mouths of the once overcrowded world. This was a few miles off the coast of Israel; it was still functioning, even if the occupants, for some reason, had left The tanks in which many different species of fish and various aquatic mammals were kept were filled with living creatures. These would have been dead in a day or two, but the arrival of the human beings saved them.
"We can make it now," said Moshe. "And our sons and daughters can make it. Some day, we... they... can return to the surface, and can resume life on the soil of the Promised Land. Did you ever see such luck? Or is it just luck? You can laugh, Broward, but there is a Hand in this."
"I won't laugh," said Broward. "I don't feel like it. But what about me? I don't want to stay here. My life is up on the Moon. What about Schwartz? If you and Katashkina let me go back, and you know you can trust me, what about Schwartz?"
"Just worry about yourself. Katashkina and I will take care of him. We have to find a woman for him, and we can do that, for there must be more than one sea-farm with survivors. How do you like that? Man will some day come forth' from the sea, just as he did millions of years ago, only this time he won't have to evolve. And off the coast of Palestine will come forth the submarine Hebrews. How do you like that?" And he laughed.
"Be serious for a while. I want to talk about me."
"I am serious. I am most serious when I laugh. All right, we'll talk about you. Wait until I find out what Schwartz is doing. I don't want to wonder what he's up to while we're in a conference."
Three hours later, Broward left the sea-farm in the scout craft. He rose through the smoke-filled atmosphere and, once above it, flew visually and with manual controls until he had put 1,000,000 kilometers between himself and Earth. Then, he set up the codes that would tell the automatic navigational equipment to determine the present parameters of the craft and the Moon and to tape the flight plan to bring him back to Clavius. He did not forget to punch in an emergency plan in case of unexpected but possible contingencies during the return.
However, nothing happened. He was challenged, and he replied with the correct code and landed at the proper berth. Once he had left the ship and entered the office of the sergeant on duty, he knew that the situation had changed very much since his departure.
"I got a line for you to Scone," said the sergeant. "It's a private one."
Broward took the phone and said, "Broward here, sir."
"Did you get the bomb?" said Scone. He sounded as if every second counted.
"Yes, sir. Only Yamanuchi isn't with me." There was a pause, then Scone said, "What happened?" "We had an accident while we were getting the bomb out."
"Very well. You can give me the details later. When we have time. Just now the important thing is that you did get back with the bomb... even if you are late. Another half hour, you wouldn't have made it. The Axe would have had it, or they would have destroyed you and the bomb before they knew what a valuable prize you would have made."
"They're on the way here?"
"Yes. One of our autoscouts flashed the warning. A big fleet. Too big for us. So, we're evacuating."
"Where are we going, sir?"
"The sergeant will give you the proper instructions. Thanks for coming through with the bomb, Broward. But I knew that if anyone could do it, you could."
There was silence; he had been cut off. He wondered if Scone was not disappointed that the accident had happened to Yamanuchi instead of to him. More than probably. But the man of stone would accept the fact as a fact and would make his plans accordingly.
"We got fifteen minutes to get away," said the sergeant. "Plenty of time to get to the other side of the Moon." "What's there?"
Broward paused at the entrance to the tube leading to the ship.
"Where will the... others be?"
"Just after you left, the drillers, looking for water, broke into a tremendous cavern. It not only had a big body of frozen water, it had space enough for all three bases to hide in and then some. So, when Scone heard about the Axe, he ordered everybody to hide there. We've been busy working our tails off, getting all the equipment down there, moving the lab stuff, all the rest, anything that could be moved and wasn't too big to go through the tunnel.
"As soon as everything's ready, or even if it isn't, the bases are going to be blown up. The tunnel will be plugged up for a little distance so the Axe won't know one's been made. We're hoping they'll think the bases were destroyed by Axe agents or missiles. Or that they'll think we decided we couldn't hold them and blew them up before we took off for Mercury or Ganymede or parts unknown."
"What if the Axe fleet leaves a garrison behind?"
"Scone says well worry about that when it happens. Please, sir, let's get going. I got my orders."
"Wait!"
Broward turned at the cry of a familiar voice to see Ingrid Nashdoi running towards him. He took her into his arms and kissed her while her tears ran and she clung tightly to him.
Finally, when she had quit weeping, she said, "I disobeyed the orders. I waited here for you, hoping you'd come back in time. If you hadn't, I don't know what I would have done. Maybe just let myself be blown up with the base."
Broward looked at the nervous sergeant. "It's all right," he said. "She'll come with us."
"I don't know, sir."
"I do. We haven't time for anything else, anyway. Don't worry. I'll take the responsibility."
Within three minutes, they were in the ship and in stasis. The sergeant, at the controls, had lifted them up and was hurling them around the curve of the great body beneath. In ten minutes, they had entered under a great shelf of volcanic rock. A few seconds later, they were through a gigantic opening and within the cavern. The beams of the ship guided them to the side of the Zemlya, where the sergeant maneuvered until the entrance port locked onto one of the monster vessel's ports.
The port slid within the walls of the craft; there was a whoosh of air as pressure equalized between the two entrances.
"You go ahead and report, Sergeant," said Broward. "I have some checking to do here."
The sergeant said, "Yes, sir," and he left, but not without being able to keep a peculiar look from flitting over his features.
Looking after him, Broward wished now that he had not been given that half-hour hypnotic session by Katashkina. If all memory of the location of the underwater station had not been repressed, he could have seized this chance to take off with Ingrid and return to them. But he did not know where they were. He did remember what had happened during the trip down and back. He remembered being in the station. But, ten minutes after he had left the place in his craft, a post-hypnotic command had plunged deep into his unconscious anything to do with the whereabouts of the two. They were somewhere under the sea, but where?
As for the report of his venture to Scone, that, too, had been taken care of during the session. He had a very detailed and, he hoped, convincing story of the finding of the bomb, of the so-called 'accident,' of his return and the reasons for the delay thereof. Scone should have no reason to investigate. After all, Yamanuchi was now dead, and the goal of the trip,
the bomb, had been secured.
Ingrid," he said, "let's get married. Now!"
Her eyes widened, and she said, "But how can we do that?"
"You do want to, don't you?"
"You don't have to ask."
"Then, we'll get the commander of the Zemlya to give his permission. That's all that's necessary. We get his permission; we record the marriage on the ship's log; that's that."
"But Scone is the commanding officer. And..."
"But he can't be contacted. The situation is the same as if we were aspace."
"Radman's the captain of the Zemlya. He's too cautious; he wouldn't do this unless he got the word from Scone. He'd be too suspicious because we're in such a hurry. He'd want to wait."
"Maybe you're right. Very well. Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Ingrid waited impatiently. She walked around the narrow cabin, looked into the storage hold, checked the air flow, and lit up one of the six cigarettes she owned, the last six on the Moon as far as she knew. By the time she had finished it, she saw Broward walking in through the port. Behind him were two soldiers.
He said, "We need two witnesses; one of them must be a commissioned officer. Allow me to introduce you to my friends Lieutenant Fielding and Corporal Garbon. They're willing to sign the ship's log, my ship, as witnesses. As commander, I'm privileged to marry anyone aboard who so wishes."
Ingrid laughed and kissed him and then kissed Fielding and Garbon.
"Let's celebrate later," said Broward. "Right now, on with the ceremony." He went to the instrument panel, pressed a button, and began to state, in the official language prescribed, his desire to marry, the date, the location, and all the details needed. Ingrid followed him. Afterwards, the two soldiers described their names, ranks, serial numbers, and the fact that they were witnesses to the marriage.
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