Brigands of the Moon | Page 8

which could cause passenger comment in this close passing of the Moon; normally we
used the satellite's attraction to give us additional starting speed.
It was now or never that a message would come from Grantline. He was supposed to be
upon the Earthward side of the Moon. While Snap had rushed through with his routine, I
searched the Moon's surface with our glass.
But there was nothing. Copernicus and Kepler lay in full sunlight. The heights of the
lunar mountains, the depths of the barren, empty seas were etched black and white, clear
and clean. Grim, forbidding desolation, this unchanging Moon. In romance, moonlight
may shimmer and sparkle to light a lover's smile; but the reality of the Moon is cold and
bleak. There was nothing to show my prying eyes where the intrepid Grantline might be.
"Nothing at all, Snap."

And Snap's instruments, attuned for an hour now to pick up the faintest signal, were
motionless.
"If he has concentrated any appreciable amount of ore," said Snap. "We should get an
impulse from its rays."
But our receiving shield was dark, untouched. Our mirror grid gave the magnified images;
the spectro, with its wave length selection, pictured the mountain levels and slowly
descended into the deepest seas.
There was nothing.
Yet in those Moon caverns--a million million recesses amid the crags of that tumbled,
barren surface--the pin point of movement which might have been Grantline's expedition
could so easily be hiding! Could he have the ore insulated, fearing its rays would betray
its presence to hostile watchers?
Or might disaster have come to him? He might not be on this hemisphere of the Moon at
all....
My imagination, sharpened by fancy of a lurking menace which seemed everywhere
about the Planetara this voyage, ran rife with fears for Johnny Grantline. He had
promised to communicate this voyage. It was now, or perhaps never.
Six-thirty came and passed. We were well beyond the Earth's shadow now. The
firmament blazed with its vivid glories; the Sun behind us was a ball of yellow-red
leaping flames. The Earth hung, a huge, dull red half sphere.
We were within forty thousand miles of the Moon. A giant white ball--all of its disc
visible to the naked eye. It poised over the bow, and presently, as the Planetara swung
upon its course for Mars, it shifted sidewise. The light of it glared white and dazzling in
our windows.
Snap, with his habitual red celluloid eyeshade shoved high on his forehead, worked over
our instruments.
"Gregg!"
The receiving shield was glowing a trifle. Rays were bombarding it! It glowed, gleamed
phosphorescent, and the audible recorder began sounding its tiny tinkling murmurs.
Gamma rays! Snap sprang to the dials. The direction and strength were soon obvious. A
richly radioactive ore body was concentrated upon this hemisphere of the Moon! It was
unmistakable.
"He's got it, Gregg! He's--"
The tiny grids began quivering. Snap exclaimed triumphantly, "Here he comes! By God,

the message at last!"
Snap decoded it.
Success! Stop for ore on your return voyage. Will give you our location later. Success
beyond wildest hopes.
Snap murmured, "That's all. He's got the ore!"
We were sitting in darkness, and abruptly I became aware that across our open window,
where the insulation barrage was flung, the air was faintly hissing. An interference there!
I saw a tiny swirl of purple sparks. Someone--some hostile ray from the deck beneath us,
or from the spider bridge that led to our little room--someone out there was trying to pry
in!
Snap impulsively reached for the absorbers to let in the outside light. But I checked him.
"Wait!" I cut off our barrage, opened our door and stepped to the narrow metal bridge.
"You stay there, Snap!" I whispered. Then I added aloud, "Well, Snap, I'm going to bed.
Glad you've cleaned up that batch of work."
I banged the door upon him. The lacework of metal bridges seemed empty. I gazed up to
the dome, and forward and aft. Twenty feet beneath me was the metal roof of the cabin
superstructure. Below it, both sides of the deck showed. All patched with moonlight.
No one visible down there. I descended a ladder. The deck was empty. But in the silence
something was moving! Footsteps moving away from me down the deck! I followed; and
suddenly I was running. Chasing something I could hear, but could not see. It turned into
the smoking room.
I burst in. And a real sound smothered the phantom. Johnson the purser was sitting here
alone in the dimness. He was smoking. I noticed that his cigar held a long frail ash. It
could not have been him I was chasing. He was sitting there quite calmly. A thick-necked,
heavy fellow, easily out of breath. But he