A Fall of Moondust

No one knew this better than Hansteen. He had watched it happen many times before, whenever a ship's company faced peril in the far reaches of the solar system. Though he was not philosophically inclined, he had had plenty of time to think in space. He had sometimes wondered if the real reason why men sought danger was that only thus could they find the companionship and solidarity which they unconsciously craved.

He would be sorry to say good-by to all those people—yes, even to Miss Morley, who was now as agreeable and considerate as her temperament would allow. The fact that he could think that far ahead was the measure of his confidence; one could never be certain, of course, but the situation now seemed completely under control. No one knew exactly how Chief Engineer Lawrence intended to get them out, but that problem was now merely a choice between alternative methods. From now on, their imprisonment was an inconvenience, not a danger.

It was not even a hardship, since those food cylinders had started popping down the air tubes. Though there had never been any risk of starvation, the diet had grown extremely monotonous, and water had been rationed for some time. Now, several hundred liters had been pumped down, to refill the almost empty tanks.

It was strange that Commodore 1-lansteen, who usually thought of everything, never asked himself the simple question “Whatever happened to all the water we started with?” Though he had more immediate problems on his mind, the sight of that extra mass being taken aboard should have set him worrying. But it never did, until it was much too late.

Pat Harris and Chief Engineer Lawrence were equally to blame for the oversight. It was the one flaw in a beautifully executed plan. And one flaw, of course, was all that was needed.

The Engineering Division of Earthside was still working swiftly, but no longer in a desperate race against the clock. There was time now to construct mock-ups of the cruiser, to sink them in the Sea off Port Roris, and to try various ways of entering them. Advice, sensible and otherwise, was still pouring in, but no one took any notice of it. The approach had been decided, and would not be modified now, unless it ran into unexpected obstacles.

Twenty-four hours after the igloo had been set up, all the special gear had been manufactured and shipped out to the site. It was a record that Lawrence hoped he would never have to break, and he was very proud of the men who had made it possible. The Engineering Division seldom got the credit it deserved: like the air, everyone took it for granted, forgetting that the engineers supplied that air.

Now that he was ready to go into action, Lawrence was quite willing to start talking, and Maurice Spenser was more than willing to accommodate him. This was the moment Spenser had been waiting for.

As far as he could remember, it was also the first time that there had ever been a TV interview with camera and subject five kilometers apart. At this fantastic magnification the image was a little fuzzy, of course, and the slightest vibration in Auriga's cabin set it dancing on the screen. For this reason, everyone aboard the ship was motionless, and all nonessential machinery had been switched off.

Chief Engineer Lawrence was standing on the edge of the raft, his space-suited figure braced against the small crane that had been swung over the side. Hanging from the jib was a large concrete cylinder, open at both ends—the first section of the tube that was now being lowered into the dust.

“After a lot of thought,” said Lawrence for the benefit of that distant camera, but, above all, for the benefit of the men and women fifteen meters beneath him, “we've decided that this is the best way to tackle the problem. This cylinder is called a caisson”—he pronounced it “kasoon”—“and it will sink easily under its own weight. The sharp lower edge will cut through the dust like a knife through butter.

“We have enough sections to reach the cruiser. When we've made contact, and the tube is sealed at the bottom—its pressure against the roof will ensure that—we'll start scooping out the dust. As soon as that's done, we'll have an open shaft, like a small well, right down to Selene.

“That will be half the battle, but only half. Then we'll have to connect the shaft to one of our pressurized igloos, so that when we cut through the cruiser's roof there's no loss of air. But I think—I hope—that these are fairly straightforward problems.”

He paused for a minute, wondering if he should touch on any of the other details that made this operation so much trickier than it looked. Then he decided not to; those who understood could see with their own eyes, and the others would not be interested, or would think he was boasting. This blaze of publicity (about half a billion people were watching, so the Tourist Commissioner had reported) did not worry him so long as things went well. But if they did not .. ..

He raised his arm and signaled to the crane operator.