"chap-16" - читать интересную книгу автора (Biggle Lloyd Jr. - All The Colours Of Darkness)

16

Jean Morris set down her water glass, and leaned forward. "Don’t look now, but we’re being watched."

"What’s that?" Arnold said, glancing in the direction of the bar. "Oh—him. He’s just a reporter who haunts me from time to time."

"Name of Walker."

"Right. Does he haunt you, too?"

"He’s a friend of Jan’s. Right after Jan disappeared he haunted the office trying to see him."

"When he’s not working, he’s a very friendly guy. It’s really too bad that he’s always working. You say Ed went back to Brussels?"

"He’s feeling awfully low, but he won’t give up. He thinks if there’s a lead anywhere it’ll be in Brussels."

"He may be right," Arnold said. "Finding it is something else, though."

"Has your boss kicked about the payroll yet?"

"He hasn’t even twitched about it. He won’t, either. As long as Ed wants to keep looking, Universal Trans will pick up the tab."

"Just the same, don’t you think it’s a hopeless waste of money?"

"It won’t be a week until tomorrow. No, I wouldn’t say it’s hopeless, but I think Darzek is likely to find us before we find him. To state the situation honestly, either Darzek is dead, or else he’ll turn up—what’s the matter?"

"Your haunting reporter is coming."

Ron Walker calmly filched a chair from the next table, and joined them. "This is three nights in a row rye seen you two having dinner together," he said. "A fine friend this Ted Arnold is. He sends Darzek out of town, and then while he’s gone he steals his girl."

"His office girl," Jean said icily.

"I keep forgetting," Walker said. "Jan doesn’t practice monogamy."

"He doesn’t practice anything. He’s a machine."

"Jan the robot. Sorry to hear it. I’ve often wondered."

"Are you still pretending to work on a Moon story, so you can charge all this night life to your paper?" Arnold asked.

"If you’re angling to be interviewed, you’re days too late."

"Glad to hear it. I don’t know any more now than I did when it happened."

"What’s this about?" Jean asked.

"The explosion on the Moon," Walker said. "Ted pretends to be a scientist, but when a real scientific problem comes along he runs and hides."

"You see how he exaggerates," Arnold said. "Imagine me running and doing anything. What’s new on the Moon?"

"No one is saying anything, but the best guess is were in another Moon race. The powers that be, or that would like to be, are waiting with bated breath to see if we can get there before the Russians."

"We’re both already there."

"Not where the explosion happened. Word is that we’re frantically getting ready to plant a new base right smack on top of that volcano, or whatever it was, and it is assumed that the Russians have similar ideas. The U. S. Space Administration is working around the clock, and gnawing its collective nails for fear it will find a USSR Station II on the spot when it comes down."

"I thought USSR Station II was on the far side of the Moon."

"Not confirmed. You know the Russian psychology is different from ours. We like to do a little bragging all the time. They prefer to save things up, so periodically they can blow themselves to a big brag. This explosion, if it was one, took place so far from any of the present Moon stations that the quickest way to get there is directly from Earth. Hence the Moon race. Too bad you don’t have a few Universal Trans terminals spotted about the Moon, so an honest and enterprising reporter could get information without waiting for handouts from a flock of stupid scientists."

"I doubt if the traffic would warrant it," Arnold said with a grin.

"Don’t kid yourself. It’d be the greatest sight-seeing attraction in history, not to mention various side benefits any shrewd promoter would be happy to fill you in on. A honeymoon hotel, for example. What a play that would get from newlyweds—HONEYMOON ON THE MOON! To date, Universal Trans hagn’t needed any promoting, but the time will come when you’ll pay big money for ideas like that one."

"No doubt," Arnold said. "Not my department, though. Still—there’d be some interesting problems."

"There sure would. Those honeymooners would get a jolt when they returned to normal Earth gravity."

"I was referring to scientific problems, and don’t forget there’s a lady present."

"Isn’t gravity a scientific problem?"

"Not your kind of gravity. I suppose such a project would be worth considering. No doubt it would bring in millions of dollars’ worth of publicity."

"You mean a honeymoon on the Moon?" Walker asked. "I’ll offer my congratulations now. How are you going to manage it?"

"Not a honeymoon, dolt. A transmitter."

Walker jerked erect. "Now that would be a story. Can I quote you?"

"You cannot. I haven’t said anything yet. It’s—let’s see— about two hundred and forty thousand miles from Earth to the Moon, give or take a few thousand miles, and there’d be at least that many miles of red tape to cut. Fortunately Watkins is an expert at unsnarling red tape, and he has all kinds of connections in Washington. If they’re planning a new Moon base they’ll be sending up tons of supplies, and they should be able to find room for one transmitter. And once we got the transmitter operating it could handle a hundred times as much payload as it displaced in the first hour. Do you have any idea when they’re going to shoot?"

Walker shook his head. "This one they’re not talking about."

"I’d better get moving. Is there a telephone—excuse me."

He darted away, narrowly missed a tray-laden waiter, collided with a drunk near the bar, and finally escaped into a telephone booth.

"Quite a guy," Walker said.

"He is that."

"I’m glad you think so. I thought no woman would ever have the brains to see it. Take warning, though—the gal that marries Ted Arnold marries his slide rule, too. He’ll do the household budget on it, and use it to figure out the baby’s formula. He may even take it to bed with him, for all I know. Have you two set a date yet?"

"Are you serious, or do you do a gossip column on the side? We’ve only had dinner together a few times, and—"

Arnold made a reckless dash back to their table and looked down on them, breathing heavily. "I’ll probably be working all night. Would you take Jean home, Ron?"

"Glad to oblige, old man."

"I’m awfully sorry, Jean, but an opportunity like this one won’t come along every day. We can’t expect USSA to wait for us—we’ll have to be ready when it’s ready."

"You haven’t had your dessert yet," Jean said.

"Ron will eat it for me. I’ll take care of the check on my way cut. Good night. I’ll telephone you tomorrow."

"Say good night to your slide rule for us," Walker called.

Arnold turned. "Not a word in the paper, Ron."

"Go soak your transmitter. The things my friends ask me to do—"

Arnold spoke briefly to the cashier, pointed in their direction, and dropped a bill on the counter. He charged into the revolving door and was gone.

Walker raised his hands despairingly. "Page one stuff, and be says not a word. He won’t even tell me the time, unless I promise not to quote him. Ever since Darzek—by the way, where is Darzek?"

"I haven’t the vaguest idea."

"Honestiy?"

"Honestly."

"Wherever he is, there’s a story there, too. I spent days bugging Arnold about it, and checking places where Jan is seen now and then, and talking to people who know him. Know what? Darzek’s whereabouts are so secret that even Darzek doesn’t know where he is."

Perrin interrupted the conversation long enough to unfold a map and plunk it onto the table. "Just so we know what we’re talking about," he said.

"Where’d you get it?" Arnold asked.

"U. S. Government Printing Office. Price eighty cents."

"Sounds like a bargain."

"It is. Here is where the alleged explosion occurred, the crater Abenezra. And here is New Frontier City, at the crater Plinius, where the Mare Serenitatis connects with the Mare Tranquillitatis. In order to reach the crater Abenezra they’d have to travel down to the southern reaches of the Sea of Tranquillity, and maybe around through the Sea of Nectar, and they’d still have two or three hundred tough miles to go. Lunaville, which is at Kepler, in the Ocean of Storms, is even worse off, and the Russian base at Archimedes is completely Out of it."

"I see what you mean. The highway system on the Moon is somewhat underdeveloped."

"Except on the maria, travel in a straight line is difficult if not impossible—so all the bases are located where the so-called seas permit some range of exploration. At least, I’m sure that’s what we had in mind. I don’t know about the Russians. How about it, Major?"

"I doubt if the Russians even tell themselves what they have in mind," Major Gorelick said.

"I take it that no one at USSA knows anything about a Station II on the far side. Is it true that we’re going to put one there?"

"We were, until this explosion thing came up. It is now planned for the crater Abenezra, as soon as we can get there. In my opinion it’s a lousy place for a base, because once we set up in the crater we may have a problem getting out, and even if we get out we can’t go anywhere, but that’s where it’s going to be. I should tell you now that your proposition has been turned down flatly, and I’m here only to observe and to placate you if possible."

"You can expect revised orders any minute, now," Watkins said. "I just talked with the President. The only condition is that we have to be ready when you are."

"How much time does that give us?" Arnold asked.

"I’m only an errand boy. I’d guess twenty-four hours."

"Ouch!"

"You’re lucky, at that. If it weren’t for the fact that we just supplied the bases, there wouldn’t have been this much delay."

"You people at USSA move so quickly that you’re generations behind the times," Arnold said irritably. "The rest of the world has been traveling by transmitter for a week and a half. If the USSA bigwigs would now and then look at a current newspaper, and co-ordinate what brain power they have so as to figure out which way is forward, this inquiry would have come from them instead of from us. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care where the transmitter goes—New Frontier City, Lunaville, or this blah-blah crater. Once we start operating, the place will be supplied from Earth a lot more efficiently than I can get a sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs. It can have all the supplies it wants, twenty-four hours a day. We’ll even rig up portable receivers for your exploration teams. They’ll stay out for months, and receive their supplies directly from Earth. As a matter of fact, they’ll work the standard six-hour day, and spend their evenings and week ends with their families on Earth. We’re going to revolutionize Moon travel the same way we’ve revolutionized Earth travel."

"Cheers," Major Gorelick said with a grin. "If there were no pressing circumstances, we’d all go wild with joy. Right now it wouldn’t matter if you could furnish the means to transplant New York City to crater Abenezra—if the Russians should get there first with one temporary hut. Why don’t you work things out at your leisure, and let us shoot your transmitter up to one of the bases on a regular supply run. The Moon is going to be there for a long time, and so are we, and it can’t matter much to you whether you revolutionize Moon travel now, or six months from now."

"How about it, Ted?" Watkins asked. "Is there any chance of your being ready in twenty-four hours?"

"There’s a chance, yes."

"Then I say let’s make the effort. If this expedition is only being made for purposes of prestige—"

"Whatever happened at crater Abenezra may have considerable scientific importance," the major murmured.

"Or it may have no importance whatsoever. From what I’ve read, more than one scientist thinks the explosion was an hallucination."

"It was an unusually widespread hallucination, and it photographed beautifully."

"Photographed?" Watkins said. "I don’t recall reading—"

"I should hope not. Look—for centuries there have been reports of curious phenomena on the Moon. Observers have seen mysterious lights, and clouds of gas, and changes of color. As recently as 1958 Russian scientists saw some kind of gaseous emission in the crater Alphonsus. There are two significant differences about the Abenezra report. For one, the explosion, if you will pardon the expression, occurred at a wonderfully opportune moment. The line of sunrise lay across the area, and for excellent reasons understood best by themselves, astronomers frequently study the movement of sunrise across the Moon. Seven reliable amateurs in Europe and Africa were looking at that precise area, and saw the whole show. In a further extension of coincidence, another amateur was making a series of photographs to study the measurements of this adjoining crater. It wasn’t until he developed his negatives that he found he had two very good shots of the explosion. The observers saw the flash clearly because it occurred in the crater’s shadow and lasted for several seconds; and they saw accompanying emission of ionized gas because it was blown, or ascended, high into the sunrise. All of which makes for a thoroughly documented hallucination.

"The second difference is that we now have the means of setting there promptly and making an on-the-spot investigation. This is one plum we don’t want the Russians to grab off. fortunately we’ve been able to sit on those photographs, and if the Russians think the whole thing was an hallucination right up to the moment we land in crater Abenezra, that’s all right with us."

"Scientific importance or not," Watkins said, "you people wouldn’t be in such a panic about this if it weren’t for the prestige, and as long as Universal Trans has a valid contribution to make, we might as well share the prestige with you. There’ll be enough for both of us, if we can bring it off. Where are you going, Ted?"

"I’m going to soak my head, for even suggesting this. Twenty-four hours! How do we pack a transmitter for shipment to the Moon? There’s no point in sending it up there if it’ll arrive smashed. When it does arrive, they can’t just plug it in and start operating. It’ll have to be redesigned to use whatever power source is most effective on the Moon, and God and everyone else may know what that is, but I don’t."

"That’s what Major Gorelick is here for. He’ll know, or he’ll know where to find out."

"We’ll also have to train some Moon men to operate the thing, since USSA certainly won’t want to take one of our engineers along."

"If they can operate it just once," Watkins said, "we’ll send them an engineer."

"In the meantime—but never mind. The first thing in the morning I’ll send Perrin down to the Cape for liaison. If we’re lucky, we might just bring it off. Just barely."

Five hours later, with the last error found, and the last objection stilled, and the coffeepot empty, Arnold got up from the drawing board.

"Build them," he said.

And they built them. Every engineer on the far-flung Universal Trans staff, every technician Arnold thought might be of use, labored and perspired along rows of benches set up in an unpartitioned section of the uncompleted Universal Trans terminal. Arnold placed guards at the door, with strict orders: no telephone calls, no messengers, no interruptions of any kind. If there were failures in the Universal Trans passenger network on that day, the traffic managers could route the passengers around them.

They built two dual-function transmitters, one for the Cape and one for the Moon. They were battery-operated, and they incorporated refinements of design that had been neither necessary nor thought of in the commercial models. The maws were short and broad, sized to take shipping containers of a prescribed shape, rather than passengers, and though the personnel would have to stoop to pass through, Arnold anticipated no complaints. A couple of steps, stooping, were no inconvenience when compared with the long, cramped rocket ride.

At five-seventeen that evening they conducted their initial test. By six o’clock one Special had been edged through a standard transmitter to the Cape, and they were running tests between the Cape and New York. At the same time a crew of Moon men received an elementary course in operating a transmitter. At eight o’clock, after as meticulous a job of crating as time and materials allowed, Arnold turned one Special over to USSA.

And at 3 A.M. he stood with a group of distinguished guests watching the long tongue of flame speed the rocket skyward.

It was dawn in New York when Arnold, drunk with fatigue, staggered into his apartment. A figure twisted in his bed. Ron Walker sat up, and said brightly, "Give with the news!"

"You!" Arnold exclaimed bitterly.

"Who else? Your landlady took pity on me, or maybe she thought my sleeping on the doorstep would give the house a bad name."

"You took Jean home—"

"I escorted her modestly and safely to her own front door, though I didn’t for a moment think she needed it. Some of the things she told me about jujitsu—"

"I was supposed to call her today. Yesterday."

"I told her you’d forget all about it. What’s up?"

"A rocket is up," Arnold said. "And a transmitter." He flopped onto the bed, raised up tiredly, and said, "But don’t quote me."

16

Jean Morris set down her water glass, and leaned forward. "Don’t look now, but we’re being watched."

"What’s that?" Arnold said, glancing in the direction of the bar. "Oh—him. He’s just a reporter who haunts me from time to time."

"Name of Walker."

"Right. Does he haunt you, too?"

"He’s a friend of Jan’s. Right after Jan disappeared he haunted the office trying to see him."

"When he’s not working, he’s a very friendly guy. It’s really too bad that he’s always working. You say Ed went back to Brussels?"

"He’s feeling awfully low, but he won’t give up. He thinks if there’s a lead anywhere it’ll be in Brussels."

"He may be right," Arnold said. "Finding it is something else, though."

"Has your boss kicked about the payroll yet?"

"He hasn’t even twitched about it. He won’t, either. As long as Ed wants to keep looking, Universal Trans will pick up the tab."

"Just the same, don’t you think it’s a hopeless waste of money?"

"It won’t be a week until tomorrow. No, I wouldn’t say it’s hopeless, but I think Darzek is likely to find us before we find him. To state the situation honestly, either Darzek is dead, or else he’ll turn up—what’s the matter?"

"Your haunting reporter is coming."

Ron Walker calmly filched a chair from the next table, and joined them. "This is three nights in a row rye seen you two having dinner together," he said. "A fine friend this Ted Arnold is. He sends Darzek out of town, and then while he’s gone he steals his girl."

"His office girl," Jean said icily.

"I keep forgetting," Walker said. "Jan doesn’t practice monogamy."

"He doesn’t practice anything. He’s a machine."

"Jan the robot. Sorry to hear it. I’ve often wondered."

"Are you still pretending to work on a Moon story, so you can charge all this night life to your paper?" Arnold asked.

"If you’re angling to be interviewed, you’re days too late."

"Glad to hear it. I don’t know any more now than I did when it happened."

"What’s this about?" Jean asked.

"The explosion on the Moon," Walker said. "Ted pretends to be a scientist, but when a real scientific problem comes along he runs and hides."

"You see how he exaggerates," Arnold said. "Imagine me running and doing anything. What’s new on the Moon?"

"No one is saying anything, but the best guess is were in another Moon race. The powers that be, or that would like to be, are waiting with bated breath to see if we can get there before the Russians."

"We’re both already there."

"Not where the explosion happened. Word is that we’re frantically getting ready to plant a new base right smack on top of that volcano, or whatever it was, and it is assumed that the Russians have similar ideas. The U. S. Space Administration is working around the clock, and gnawing its collective nails for fear it will find a USSR Station II on the spot when it comes down."

"I thought USSR Station II was on the far side of the Moon."

"Not confirmed. You know the Russian psychology is different from ours. We like to do a little bragging all the time. They prefer to save things up, so periodically they can blow themselves to a big brag. This explosion, if it was one, took place so far from any of the present Moon stations that the quickest way to get there is directly from Earth. Hence the Moon race. Too bad you don’t have a few Universal Trans terminals spotted about the Moon, so an honest and enterprising reporter could get information without waiting for handouts from a flock of stupid scientists."

"I doubt if the traffic would warrant it," Arnold said with a grin.

"Don’t kid yourself. It’d be the greatest sight-seeing attraction in history, not to mention various side benefits any shrewd promoter would be happy to fill you in on. A honeymoon hotel, for example. What a play that would get from newlyweds—HONEYMOON ON THE MOON! To date, Universal Trans hagn’t needed any promoting, but the time will come when you’ll pay big money for ideas like that one."

"No doubt," Arnold said. "Not my department, though. Still—there’d be some interesting problems."

"There sure would. Those honeymooners would get a jolt when they returned to normal Earth gravity."

"I was referring to scientific problems, and don’t forget there’s a lady present."

"Isn’t gravity a scientific problem?"

"Not your kind of gravity. I suppose such a project would be worth considering. No doubt it would bring in millions of dollars’ worth of publicity."

"You mean a honeymoon on the Moon?" Walker asked. "I’ll offer my congratulations now. How are you going to manage it?"

"Not a honeymoon, dolt. A transmitter."

Walker jerked erect. "Now that would be a story. Can I quote you?"

"You cannot. I haven’t said anything yet. It’s—let’s see— about two hundred and forty thousand miles from Earth to the Moon, give or take a few thousand miles, and there’d be at least that many miles of red tape to cut. Fortunately Watkins is an expert at unsnarling red tape, and he has all kinds of connections in Washington. If they’re planning a new Moon base they’ll be sending up tons of supplies, and they should be able to find room for one transmitter. And once we got the transmitter operating it could handle a hundred times as much payload as it displaced in the first hour. Do you have any idea when they’re going to shoot?"

Walker shook his head. "This one they’re not talking about."

"I’d better get moving. Is there a telephone—excuse me."

He darted away, narrowly missed a tray-laden waiter, collided with a drunk near the bar, and finally escaped into a telephone booth.

"Quite a guy," Walker said.

"He is that."

"I’m glad you think so. I thought no woman would ever have the brains to see it. Take warning, though—the gal that marries Ted Arnold marries his slide rule, too. He’ll do the household budget on it, and use it to figure out the baby’s formula. He may even take it to bed with him, for all I know. Have you two set a date yet?"

"Are you serious, or do you do a gossip column on the side? We’ve only had dinner together a few times, and—"

Arnold made a reckless dash back to their table and looked down on them, breathing heavily. "I’ll probably be working all night. Would you take Jean home, Ron?"

"Glad to oblige, old man."

"I’m awfully sorry, Jean, but an opportunity like this one won’t come along every day. We can’t expect USSA to wait for us—we’ll have to be ready when it’s ready."

"You haven’t had your dessert yet," Jean said.

"Ron will eat it for me. I’ll take care of the check on my way cut. Good night. I’ll telephone you tomorrow."

"Say good night to your slide rule for us," Walker called.

Arnold turned. "Not a word in the paper, Ron."

"Go soak your transmitter. The things my friends ask me to do—"

Arnold spoke briefly to the cashier, pointed in their direction, and dropped a bill on the counter. He charged into the revolving door and was gone.

Walker raised his hands despairingly. "Page one stuff, and be says not a word. He won’t even tell me the time, unless I promise not to quote him. Ever since Darzek—by the way, where is Darzek?"

"I haven’t the vaguest idea."

"Honestiy?"

"Honestly."

"Wherever he is, there’s a story there, too. I spent days bugging Arnold about it, and checking places where Jan is seen now and then, and talking to people who know him. Know what? Darzek’s whereabouts are so secret that even Darzek doesn’t know where he is."

Perrin interrupted the conversation long enough to unfold a map and plunk it onto the table. "Just so we know what we’re talking about," he said.

"Where’d you get it?" Arnold asked.

"U. S. Government Printing Office. Price eighty cents."

"Sounds like a bargain."

"It is. Here is where the alleged explosion occurred, the crater Abenezra. And here is New Frontier City, at the crater Plinius, where the Mare Serenitatis connects with the Mare Tranquillitatis. In order to reach the crater Abenezra they’d have to travel down to the southern reaches of the Sea of Tranquillity, and maybe around through the Sea of Nectar, and they’d still have two or three hundred tough miles to go. Lunaville, which is at Kepler, in the Ocean of Storms, is even worse off, and the Russian base at Archimedes is completely Out of it."

"I see what you mean. The highway system on the Moon is somewhat underdeveloped."

"Except on the maria, travel in a straight line is difficult if not impossible—so all the bases are located where the so-called seas permit some range of exploration. At least, I’m sure that’s what we had in mind. I don’t know about the Russians. How about it, Major?"

"I doubt if the Russians even tell themselves what they have in mind," Major Gorelick said.

"I take it that no one at USSA knows anything about a Station II on the far side. Is it true that we’re going to put one there?"

"We were, until this explosion thing came up. It is now planned for the crater Abenezra, as soon as we can get there. In my opinion it’s a lousy place for a base, because once we set up in the crater we may have a problem getting out, and even if we get out we can’t go anywhere, but that’s where it’s going to be. I should tell you now that your proposition has been turned down flatly, and I’m here only to observe and to placate you if possible."

"You can expect revised orders any minute, now," Watkins said. "I just talked with the President. The only condition is that we have to be ready when you are."

"How much time does that give us?" Arnold asked.

"I’m only an errand boy. I’d guess twenty-four hours."

"Ouch!"

"You’re lucky, at that. If it weren’t for the fact that we just supplied the bases, there wouldn’t have been this much delay."

"You people at USSA move so quickly that you’re generations behind the times," Arnold said irritably. "The rest of the world has been traveling by transmitter for a week and a half. If the USSA bigwigs would now and then look at a current newspaper, and co-ordinate what brain power they have so as to figure out which way is forward, this inquiry would have come from them instead of from us. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care where the transmitter goes—New Frontier City, Lunaville, or this blah-blah crater. Once we start operating, the place will be supplied from Earth a lot more efficiently than I can get a sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs. It can have all the supplies it wants, twenty-four hours a day. We’ll even rig up portable receivers for your exploration teams. They’ll stay out for months, and receive their supplies directly from Earth. As a matter of fact, they’ll work the standard six-hour day, and spend their evenings and week ends with their families on Earth. We’re going to revolutionize Moon travel the same way we’ve revolutionized Earth travel."

"Cheers," Major Gorelick said with a grin. "If there were no pressing circumstances, we’d all go wild with joy. Right now it wouldn’t matter if you could furnish the means to transplant New York City to crater Abenezra—if the Russians should get there first with one temporary hut. Why don’t you work things out at your leisure, and let us shoot your transmitter up to one of the bases on a regular supply run. The Moon is going to be there for a long time, and so are we, and it can’t matter much to you whether you revolutionize Moon travel now, or six months from now."

"How about it, Ted?" Watkins asked. "Is there any chance of your being ready in twenty-four hours?"

"There’s a chance, yes."

"Then I say let’s make the effort. If this expedition is only being made for purposes of prestige—"

"Whatever happened at crater Abenezra may have considerable scientific importance," the major murmured.

"Or it may have no importance whatsoever. From what I’ve read, more than one scientist thinks the explosion was an hallucination."

"It was an unusually widespread hallucination, and it photographed beautifully."

"Photographed?" Watkins said. "I don’t recall reading—"

"I should hope not. Look—for centuries there have been reports of curious phenomena on the Moon. Observers have seen mysterious lights, and clouds of gas, and changes of color. As recently as 1958 Russian scientists saw some kind of gaseous emission in the crater Alphonsus. There are two significant differences about the Abenezra report. For one, the explosion, if you will pardon the expression, occurred at a wonderfully opportune moment. The line of sunrise lay across the area, and for excellent reasons understood best by themselves, astronomers frequently study the movement of sunrise across the Moon. Seven reliable amateurs in Europe and Africa were looking at that precise area, and saw the whole show. In a further extension of coincidence, another amateur was making a series of photographs to study the measurements of this adjoining crater. It wasn’t until he developed his negatives that he found he had two very good shots of the explosion. The observers saw the flash clearly because it occurred in the crater’s shadow and lasted for several seconds; and they saw accompanying emission of ionized gas because it was blown, or ascended, high into the sunrise. All of which makes for a thoroughly documented hallucination.

"The second difference is that we now have the means of setting there promptly and making an on-the-spot investigation. This is one plum we don’t want the Russians to grab off. fortunately we’ve been able to sit on those photographs, and if the Russians think the whole thing was an hallucination right up to the moment we land in crater Abenezra, that’s all right with us."

"Scientific importance or not," Watkins said, "you people wouldn’t be in such a panic about this if it weren’t for the prestige, and as long as Universal Trans has a valid contribution to make, we might as well share the prestige with you. There’ll be enough for both of us, if we can bring it off. Where are you going, Ted?"

"I’m going to soak my head, for even suggesting this. Twenty-four hours! How do we pack a transmitter for shipment to the Moon? There’s no point in sending it up there if it’ll arrive smashed. When it does arrive, they can’t just plug it in and start operating. It’ll have to be redesigned to use whatever power source is most effective on the Moon, and God and everyone else may know what that is, but I don’t."

"That’s what Major Gorelick is here for. He’ll know, or he’ll know where to find out."

"We’ll also have to train some Moon men to operate the thing, since USSA certainly won’t want to take one of our engineers along."

"If they can operate it just once," Watkins said, "we’ll send them an engineer."

"In the meantime—but never mind. The first thing in the morning I’ll send Perrin down to the Cape for liaison. If we’re lucky, we might just bring it off. Just barely."

Five hours later, with the last error found, and the last objection stilled, and the coffeepot empty, Arnold got up from the drawing board.

"Build them," he said.

And they built them. Every engineer on the far-flung Universal Trans staff, every technician Arnold thought might be of use, labored and perspired along rows of benches set up in an unpartitioned section of the uncompleted Universal Trans terminal. Arnold placed guards at the door, with strict orders: no telephone calls, no messengers, no interruptions of any kind. If there were failures in the Universal Trans passenger network on that day, the traffic managers could route the passengers around them.

They built two dual-function transmitters, one for the Cape and one for the Moon. They were battery-operated, and they incorporated refinements of design that had been neither necessary nor thought of in the commercial models. The maws were short and broad, sized to take shipping containers of a prescribed shape, rather than passengers, and though the personnel would have to stoop to pass through, Arnold anticipated no complaints. A couple of steps, stooping, were no inconvenience when compared with the long, cramped rocket ride.

At five-seventeen that evening they conducted their initial test. By six o’clock one Special had been edged through a standard transmitter to the Cape, and they were running tests between the Cape and New York. At the same time a crew of Moon men received an elementary course in operating a transmitter. At eight o’clock, after as meticulous a job of crating as time and materials allowed, Arnold turned one Special over to USSA.

And at 3 A.M. he stood with a group of distinguished guests watching the long tongue of flame speed the rocket skyward.

It was dawn in New York when Arnold, drunk with fatigue, staggered into his apartment. A figure twisted in his bed. Ron Walker sat up, and said brightly, "Give with the news!"

"You!" Arnold exclaimed bitterly.

"Who else? Your landlady took pity on me, or maybe she thought my sleeping on the doorstep would give the house a bad name."

"You took Jean home—"

"I escorted her modestly and safely to her own front door, though I didn’t for a moment think she needed it. Some of the things she told me about jujitsu—"

"I was supposed to call her today. Yesterday."

"I told her you’d forget all about it. What’s up?"

"A rocket is up," Arnold said. "And a transmitter." He flopped onto the bed, raised up tiredly, and said, "But don’t quote me."