A Fall of Moondust

It was, as always, very quiet in Traffic Control. On the great wall maps, the green and amber lights flashed continuously, their routine messages unimportant against the clamor of that single, flaring red. At the Air, Power, and Radiation consoles, the duty officers sat like guardian angels, watching over the safety of one quarter of a world.

“Nothing new,” reported the Ground Traffic officer. “We're still completely in the dark. All we know is that they're somewhere out in the Sea.”

He traced a circle on the large-scale map.

“Unless they're fantastically off course, they must be in that general area. On the nineteen hundred hours check, they were within a kilometer of their planned route. At twenty hundred, their signal had vanished, so whatever happened took place in that sixty minutes.”

“How far can Selene travel in an hour?” someone asked.

“Flat out, a hundred and twenty kilometers,” replied the Commissioner. “But she normally cruises at well under a hundred. You don't hurry on a sight-seeing tour.”

He stared at the map, as if trying to extract information from it by the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“If they're out in the Sea, it won't take long to find them. Have you sent out the dust-skis?”

“No, sir; I was waiting for authorization.”

Davis looked at the Chief Engineer, who outranked anyone on this side of the Moon except Chief Administrator Olsen himself. Lawrence nodded slowly.

“Send them out,” he said. “But don't expect results in a hurry. It will take awhile to search several thousand square kilometers—especially at night. Tell them to work over the route from the last reported position, one ski on either side of it, so that they sweep the widest possible band.”

When the order had gone out, Davis asked unhappily: “What do you think could have happened?”

“There are only a few possibilities. It must have been sudden, because there was no message from them. That usually means an explosion.”

The Commissioner paled; there was always the chance of sabotage, and no one could ever guard against that. Because of their vulnerability, space vehicles, like aircraft before them, were an irresistible attraction to a certain type of criminal. Davis thought of the Venus-bound liner Argo, which had been destroyed with two hundred men, women, and children aboard, because a maniac had a grudge against a passenger who scarcely knew him.

“And then there's collision,” continued the Chief Engineer. “She could have run into an obstacle.”

“Harris is a very careful driver,” said the Commissioner. “He's done this trip scores of times.”

“Everyone can make mistakes; it's easy to misjudge your distance when you're driving by earthlight.”

Commissioner Davis barely heard him; he was thinking of all the arrangements he might have to make if the worst came to the worst. He'd better start by getting the Legal Branch to check the indemnity forms. If any relatives started suing the Tourist Commission for a few million dollars, that would undo his entire publicity campaign for the next year—even if he won.

The Ground Traffic officer gave a nervous cough.

“If I might make a suggestion,” he said to the Chief Engineer. “We could call Lagrange. The astronomers up therr may be able to see something.”

“At night?” asked Davis skeptically. “From fifty thousand kilometers up?”

“Easily, if her searchlights are still burning. It's worth trying.”

“Excellent idea,” said the Chief Engineer. “Do that right away.”

He should have thought of that himself, and wondered if there were any other possibilities he had overlooked. This was not the first occasion he had been forced to pit his wits against this strange and beautiful world, so breath-taking in her moments of magic—so deadly in her times of peril. She would never be wholly tamed, as Earth had been, and perhaps that was just as well. For it was the lure of the untouched wilderness and the faint but ever-present hint of danger that now brought the tourists as well as the explorers across the gulfs of space. He would prefer to do without the tourists—but they helped to pay his salary.

And now he had better start packing. This whole crisis might evaporate, and Selene might turn up again quite unaware of the panic she had caused. But he did not think this would happen, and his fear deepened to certainty as the minutes passed. He would give her another hour; then he would take the suborbital shuttle to Port Roris and to the realm of his waiting enemy, the Sea of Thirst.

When the PRIORITY RED signal reached Lagrange, Thomas Lawson, Ph. D., was fast asleep. He resented the interruption; though one needed only two hours' sleep in twenty-four when living under zero gravity, it seemed a little unfair to lose even that. Then he grasped the meaning of the message, and was fully awake. At last it looked as if he would be doing something useful here.