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Title: The Winning of the Moon

Author: Kris Neville

Release Date: January 25, 2020 [EBook #61242]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ***

The Winning of the Moon

BY KRIS NEVILLE

The enemy was friendly enough.

Trouble was—their friendship

was as dangerous as their hate!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Worlds of If Science Fiction, September 1962.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

General Finogenov notified Major Winship that the underground blast was scheduled for the following morning.

Major Winship, after receiving the message, discussed precautions with the three other Americans.

Next morning, before the sunlight exploded, the four of them donned their space suits and went and sat outside the dome, waiting. The sun rose with its bright, silent clap of radiance. Black pools of shadows lay in harsh contrast, their edges drawn with geometric precision.

Major Winship attempted unsuccessfully to communicate with Base Gagarin. "Will you please request the general to keep us informed on the progress of the countdown?"

"Is Pinov," came the reply. "Help?"

"Nyet," said Major Winship, exhausting his Russian. "Count down. Progress. When—boom?"

"Is Pinov," came the reply.

"Boom! Boom!" said Major Winship in exasperation.

"Boom!" said Pinov happily.

"When?"

"Boom—boom!" said Pinov.

"Oh, nuts." Major Winship cut out the circuit. "They've got Pinov on emergency watch this morning," he explained to the other Americans. "The one that doesn't speak English."

"He's done it deliberately," said Capt. Wilkins, the eldest of the four Americans. "How are we going to know when it's over?"

No one bothered to respond. They sat for a while in silence while the shadows evaporated. One by one they clicked on their cooling systems.

Ultimately, Lt. Chandler said, "This is a little ridiculous. I'm going to switch over to their channel. Rap if you want me." He sat transfixed for several minutes. "Ah, it's all Russian. Jabbering away. I can't tell a thing that's going on."

In the airless void of the moon, the blast itself would be silent. A moth's wing of dust would, perhaps, rise and settle beyond the horizon: no more.

"Static?"

"Nope."

"We'll get static on these things."

A small infinity seemed to pass very slowly.

Major Winship shifted restlessly. "My reefer's gone on the fritz." Perspiration was trickling down his face.

"Let's all go in," said the fourth American, Capt. Lawler. "It's probably over by now."

"I'll try again," Major Winship said and switched to the emergency channel. "Base Gagarin? Base Gagarin?"

"Is Pinov. Help?"

"Nyet."

"Pinov's still there," Major Winship said.

"Tell him, 'Help'," said Capt. Wilkins, "so he'll get somebody we can talk to."

"I'll see them all in hell, first," Major Winship said.

Five minutes later, the perspiration was rivers across his face. "This is it," he said. "I'm going in."

"Let's all—"

"No. I've got to cool off."

"Hell, Charlie, I feel stupid sitting out here," Capt. Lawler said. "The shot probably went off an hour ago."

"The static level hasn't gone up much, if at all."

"Maybe," Lt. Chandler said, "it's buried too deep."

"Maybe so," Major Winship said. "But we can't have the dome fall down around all our ears." He stood. "Whew! You guys stay put."

He crossed with the floating moon-motion to the airlock and entered, closing the door behind him. The darkness slowly filled with air, and the temperature inside the suit declined steadily. At the proper moment of pressure, the inner lock slid open and Major Winship stepped into the illuminated central area. His foot was lifted for the second step when the floor beneath him rose and fell gently, pitching him forward, off balance. He stumbled against the table and ended up seated beside the radio equipment. The ground moved again.

"Charlie! Charlie!"

"I'm okay," Major Winship answered. "Okay! Okay!"

"It's—"

There was additional surface movement. The movement ceased.

"Hey, Les, how's it look?" Capt. Wilkins asked.

"Okay from this side. Charlie, you still okay?"

"Okay," Major Winship said. "We told them this might happen," he added bitterly.

There was a wait during which everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

"I guess it's over," said Major Winship, getting to his feet. "Wait a bit more, there may be an after-shock." He switched once again to the emergency channel.

"Is Pinov," came the supremely relaxed voice. "Help?"

Major Winship whinnied in disgust. "Nyet!" he snarled. To the other Americans: "Our comrades seem unconcerned."

"Tough."

They began to get the static for the first time. It crackled and snapped in their speakers. They made sounds of disapproval at each other. For a minute or two, static blanked out the communications completely. It then abated to something in excess of normal.

"Well," Lt. Chandler commented, "even though we didn't build this thing to withstand a moonquake, it seems to have stood up all right."

"I guess I was just—" Major Winship began. "Oh, hell! We're losing pressure. Where's the markers?"

"By the lug cabinet."

"Got 'em," Major Winship said a moment later.

He peeled back a marker and let it fall. Air currents whisked it away and plastered it against a riveted seam of the dome. It pulsed as though it were breathing and then it ruptured.

Major Winship moved quickly to cut out the emergency air supply which had cut in automatically with the pressure drop. "You guys wait. It's on your right side, midway up. I'll try to sheet it."

He moved for the plastic sheeting.

"We've lost about three feet of calk out here," Capt. Lawler said. "I can see more ripping loose. You're losing pressure fast at this rate."

Major Winship pressed the sheeting over the leak. "How's that?"

"Not yet."

"I don't think I've got enough pressure left to hold it, now. It's sprung a little, and I can't get it to conform over the rivet heads."

There was a splatter of static.

"Damn!" Major Winship said, "they should have made these things more flexible."

"Still coming out."

"Best I can do." Major Winship stepped back. The sheet began slowly to slide downward, then it fell away completely and lay limply on the floor.

"Come on in," he said dryly.

With the four of them inside, it was somewhat cramped. Most of the five hundred square feet was filled with equipment. Electrical cables trailed loosely along the walls and were festooned from the ceiling, radiating from the connections to the outside solar cells. The living space was more restricted than in a submarine, with the bunks jutting out from the walls about six feet from the floor.

Lt. Chandler mounted one of the bunks to give them more room. "Well," he said wryly, "it doesn't smell as bad now."

"Oops," said Major Winship. "Just a second. They're coming in." He switched over to the emergency channel. It was General Finogenov.

"Major Winship! Hello! Hello, hello, hello. You A Okay?"

"This is Major Winship."

"Oh! Excellent, very good. Any damage, Major?"

"Little leak. You?"

"Came through without damage." General Finogenov paused a moment. When no comment was forthcoming, he continued: "Perhaps we built a bit more strongly, Major."

"You did this deliberately," Major Winship said testily.

"No, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Major Winship, please believe me. I very much regret this. Very much so. I am very distressed. Depressed. After repeatedly assuring you there was no danger of a quake—and then to have something like this happen. Oh, this is very embarrassing to me. Is there anything at all we can do?"

"Just leave us alone, thank you," Major Winship said and cut off the communication.

"What'd they say?" Capt. Wilkins asked.

"Larry, General Finogenov said he was very embarrassed by this."

"That's nice," Lt. Chandler said.

"I'll be damned surprised," Major Winship said, "if they got any seismic data out of that shot.... Well, to hell with them, let's get this leak fixed. Skip, can you get the calking compound?"

"Larry, where's the inventory?"

"Les has got it."

Lt. Chandler got down from the bunk and Capt. Wilkins mounted.

"Larry," Major Winship said, "why don't you get Earth?"

"Okay."

Capt. Wilkins got down from the bunk and Capt. Lawler ascended.

"Got the inventory sheet, Les?"

"Right here."

Squeezed in front of the massive transmitter, Capt. Wilkins had energized the circuits. There was a puzzled look on his face. He leaned his helmet against the speaker and then shook his head sadly. "We can't hear anything without any air."

Major Winship looked at the microphone. "Well, I'll just report and—" He started to pick up the microphone and reconsidered. "Yes," he said. "That's right, isn't it."

Capt. Wilkins flicked off the transmitter. "Some days you don't mine at all," he said.

"Les, have you found it?"

"It's around here somewhere. Supposed to be back here."

"Well, find it."

Lt. Chandler began moving boxes. "I saw it—"

"Skip, help look."

Capt. Lawler got down from the bunk and Major Winship mounted. "We haven't got all day."

A few minutes later, Lt. Chandler issued the triumphant cry. "Here it is! Dozen tubes. Squeeze tubes. It's the new stuff."

Major Winship got down and Capt. Wilkins got up.

"Marker showed it over here," Major Winship said, inching over to the wall. He traced the leak with a metallic finger.

"How does this stuff work?" Capt. Lawler asked.

They huddled over the instruction sheet.

"Let's see. Squeeze the tube until the diaphragm at the nozzle ruptures. Extrude paste into seam. Allow to harden one hour before service."

Major Winship said dryly, "Never mind. I notice it hardens on contact with air."

Capt. Wilkins lay back on the bunk and stared upward. He said, "Now that makes a weird kind of sense, doesn't it?"

"How do they possibly think—?"

"Gentlemen! It doesn't make any difference," Lt. Chandler said. "Some air must already have leaked into this one. It's hard as a rock. A gorilla couldn't extrude it."

"How're the other ones?" asked Major Winship.

Lt. Chandler turned and made a quick examination. "Oh, they're all hard, too."

"Who was supposed to check?" demanded Capt. Wilkins in exasperation.

"The only way you can check is to extrude it," Lt. Chandler said, "and if it does extrude, you've ruined it."

"That's that," Major Winship said. "There's nothing for it but to yell help."

II

Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler took the land car to Base Gagarin. The Soviet base was situated some ten miles toward sunset at the bottom of a natural fold in the surface. The route was moderately direct to the tip of the gently rolling ridge. At that point, the best pathway angled left and made an S-shaped descent to the basin. It was a one-way trip of approximately thirty exhausting minutes.

Major Winship, with his deficient reefer, remained behind. Capt. Wilkins stayed for company.

"I want a cigarette in the worst way," Capt. Wilkins said.

"So do I, Larry. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours. Unless something else goes wrong."

"As long as they'll loan us the calking compound," Capt. Wilkins said.

"Yeah, yeah," Major Winship said.

"Let's eat."

"You got any concentrate? I'm empty."

"I'll load you," Capt. Wilkins volunteered wearily.

It was an awkward operation that took several minutes. Capt. Wilkins cursed twice during the operation. "I'd hate to live in this thing for any period."

"I think these suits are one thing we've got over the Russians," Major Winship said. "I don't see how they can manipulate those bulky pieces of junk around."

They ate.

"Really horrible stuff."

"Nutritious."

After the meal, Major Winship said reflectively, "Now I'd like a cup of hot tea. I'm cooled off."

Capt. Wilkins raised eyebrows. "What brought this on?"

"I was just thinking.... They really got it made, Larry. They've got better than three thousand square feet in the main dome and better than twelve hundred square feet in each of the two little ones. And there's only seven of them right now. That's living."

"They've been here six years longer, after all."

"Finogenov had a clay samovar sent up. Lemon and nutmeg, too. Real, by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His own office is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. And a wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everything big and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less—"

"They've got the power-plants for it."

"Do you think he did that deliberately?" Major Winship asked. "I think he's trying to force us off. I think he hoped for the quake. Gagarin's built to take it, I'll say that. Looks like it, anyhow. You don't suppose they planned this all along? Even if they didn't, they sure got the jump on us again, didn't they? I told you what he told me?"

"You told me," Capt. Wilkins said.

After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, "To hell with the Russian engineer."

"If you've got all that power...."

"That's the thing. That's the thing that gripes me, know what I mean? It's just insane to send up a heavy wooden desk. That's showing off. Like a little kid."

"Maybe they don't make aluminum desks."

"They've—got—aluminum. Half of everything on the whole planet is aluminum. You know they're just showing off."

"Let me wire you up," Capt. Wilkins said. "We ought to report."

"That's going to take awhile."

"It's something to do while we wait."

"I guess we ought to." Major Winship came down from the bunk and sat with his back toward the transmitter. Capt. Wilkins slewed the equipment around until the emergency jacks were accessible. He unearthed the appropriate cable and began unscrewing the exterior plate to the small transmitter-receiver set on Major Winship's back. Eventually, trailing wires, Major Winship was coupled into the network. "Okay?"

"Okay," Major Winship gestured.

They roused Earth.

"This is Major Charles Winship, Commanding Officer, Freedom 19, the American moonbase."

At this point, Major Winship observed for the first time that he was now on emergency air. He started to ask Capt. Wilkins to change his air bottle, but then he realized his communications were cut off. He reached over and rapped Capt. Wilkins' helmet.

"This is the Cape. Come in, Major Winship."

"Just a moment."

"Is everything all right?"

Major Winship was squirming nervously, obviously perturbed.

"A-Okay," he said. "Just a moment."

"What's wrong?" came the worried question. In the background, he heard someone say, "I think there's something wrong."

Capt. Wilkins peered intently. Major Winship contorted his face in a savage grimace.

Capt. Wilkins raised his eyebrows in alarm. They were face to face through their helmets, close together. Each face appeared monstrously large to the other.

Major Winship made a strangling motion and reached for his throat. One arm tangled a cable and jerked the speaker jack loose. Major Winship could no longer hear the alarmed expressions from the Cape. The effort was not entirely subvocal, since he emitted a little gasping cry in involuntary realism.

This, in the course of some 90 seconds, was transmitted to Earth.

Capt. Wilkins's lips were desperately forming the word "Leak?"

Air, Major Winship said silently.

Leak?

Bottle! Bottle! Bottle! It was a frog-like, unvocal expletive.

Comprehension dawned. Capt. Wilkins nodded and started to turn away. Major Winship caught his arm and nodded his head toward the loose jack.

Oh.

Capt. Wilkins nodded and smiled. He reached across and plugged the speaker in again.

"... Freedom 19! Hello, Freedom 19! Come in!"

"We're here," Major Winship said.

"All right? Are you all right?"

"We're all right. A-Okay." Major Winship, mindful of the extent of his potential audience, took a deep breath. "Earlier this morning, the Soviet Union fired an underground atomic device for the ostensible purpose of investigating the composition of the lunar mass by means of seismic analysis of the resultant shock waves. This was done in spite of American warnings that such a disturbance might release accumulated stresses in the long undisturbed satellite, and was done in the face of vigorous American protests."

Capt. Wilkins tapped his helmet and gestured for him to swivel around. The turn was uncomfortably tight and complicated by the restraining cables. Capt. Wilkins began replacement of the air bottle.

"These protests have proved well founded," Major Winship continued. "Immediately following the detonation, Freedom 19 was called on to withstand a moderately severe shifting of the Lunar surface. No personnel were injured and there was no equipment damage."

Capt. Wilkins tapped his shoulder to indicate the new air bottle was being inserted. Another tap indicated it was seated. Major Winship flicked the appropriate chest button and nodded in appreciation.

"However," he continued, "we did experience a minor leak in the dome, which is presently being repaired."

"The Soviet Union," came the reply, "has reported the disturbance and has tendered their official apology. You want it?"

"It can wait until later. Send it by mail for all I care. Vacuum has destroyed our organic air reconditioner. We have approximately three weeks of emergency air. However, Base Gagarin reports no damage, so that, in the event we exhaust our air, we will be able to obtain the necessary replacement."

The wait of a little better than three seconds for the response gave the conversation a tone of deliberation.

A new voice came on. "We tried to contact you earlier, Major. We will be able to deliver replacements in about ten days."

"I will forward a coded report on the occurrence," Major Winship said.

"Let us hear from you again in ... about three hours. Is the leak repaired?"

"The leak has not yet been repaired. Over and out."

He nodded to Capt. Wilkins and leaned back.

Methodically, Capt. Wilkins set about disconnecting the major from the transmitter.

"Wow!" said Major Winship when he was once more in communication. "For a moment there, I thought...."

"What?" Capt. Wilkins asked with interest.

"I could see myself asking them to ask the Russians to ask Finogenov to get on the emergency channel to ask you to charge the air bottle. I never felt so ... idiotic is not quite strong enough ... there for a minute in my whole life. I didn't know how much emergency air was left, and I thought, my God, I'll never live this down. All the hams in the world listening, while I try to explain the situation. I could see the nickname being entered in my files: aka. The Airless Idiot. I tell you, that was rough."

III

Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler returned with the calking compound. It occupied the rear section of the land car. Lt. Chandler sat atop it. It was a fifty-five gallon drum.

The airlock to Freedom 19 was open. "What is that?" asked Major Winship, squinting out into the glaring sunlight.

"That," said Capt. Lawler, "is the calking compound."

"You're kidding," said Capt. Wilkins.

"I am not kidding."

Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler came inside. Capt. Wilkins mounted a bunk.

"Why didn't you just borrow a cupful?" Major Winship said sarcastically.

"It's this way," Lt. Chandler said. "They didn't have anything but 55-gallon drums of it."

"Oh, my," said Capt. Wilkins. "I suppose it's a steel drum. Those things must weigh...."

"Actually, I think you guys have got the general wrong," Capt. Lawler said. "He was out, himself, to greet us. I think he was really quite upset by the quake. Probably because his people had misfigured so bad."

"He's too damned suspicious," Major Winship said. "You know and I know why they set that blast off. I tried to tell him. Hell. He looks at me like an emasculated owl and wants to know our ulterior motive in trying to prevent a purely scientific experiment, the results of which will be published in the technical press for the good of everybody. I'll bet!"

"About this drum," Capt. Wilkins said.

"Well, like I said, it's this way," Lt. Chandler resumed. "I told him we needed about a pint. Maybe a quart. But this stuff you have to mix up. He only had these drums. There's two parts to it, and you have to combine them in just the right proportion. He told me to take a little scale—"

"A little scale?" asked Capt. Wilkins, rolling his eyes at the dome.

"That's what I told him. We don't have any little scale."

"Yeah," said Captain Lawler, "and he looked at us with that mute, surprised look, like everybody, everywhere has dozens of little scales."

"Well, anyway," Lt. Chandler continued, "he told us just to mix up the whole fifty-five gallon drum. There's a little bucket of stuff that goes in, and it's measured just right. We can throw away what we don't need."

"Somehow, that sounds like him," Major Winship said.

"He had five or six of them."

"Jesus!" said Capt. Wilkins. "That must be three thousand pounds of calking compound. Those people are insane."

"The question is," Capt. Lawler said, "'How are we going to mix it?' It's supposed to be mixed thoroughly."

They thought over the problem for a while.

"That will be a man-sized job," Major Winship said.

"Let's see, Charlie. Maybe not too bad," said Capt. Wilkins. "If I took the compressor motor, we could make up a shaft and ... let's see ... if we could...."

It took the better part of an hour to rig up the electric mixer.

Capt. Wilkins was profusely congratulated.

"Now," Major Winship said, "we can either bring the drum inside or take the mixer out there."

"We're going to have to bring the drum in," Capt. Wilkins said.

"Well," said Capt. Lawler, "that will make it nice and cozy."

It took the four of them to roll the drum inside, rocking it back and forth through the airlock. At that time, it was apparent the table was interposing itself.

Lt. Chandler tried to dismantle the table. "Damn these suits," he said.

"You've got it stuck between the bunk post."

"I know that."

"I don't think this is the way to do it," Major Winship said. "Let's back the drum out."

Reluctantly, they backed the drum out and deposited it. With the aid of Capt. Lawler, Lt. Chandler got the table unstuck. They passed it over to Major Winship, who handed it out to Capt. Wilkins. Captain Wilkins carried it around the drum of calking compound and set it down. It rested uneasily on the uneven surface.

"Now, let's go," said Major Winship.

Eventually, they accomplished the moving. They wedged the drum between the main air-supply tank and the transmitter. They were all perspiring. "It's not the weight, it's the mass," said Capt. Wilkins brightly.

"The hell it isn't the weight," said Lt. Chandler. "That's heavy."

"With my reefer out," said Major Winship, "I'm the one it's rough on." He shook perspiration out of his eyes. "They should figure a way to get a mop in here, or a towel, or a sponge, or something. I'll bet you've forgotten how much sweat stings in the eyes."

"It's the salt."

"Speaking of salt. I wish I had some salt tablets," Major Winship said. "I've never sweat so much since basic."

"Want to bet Finogenov hasn't got a bushel of them?"

"No!" Major Winship snapped.

With the drum of calking compound inside, both Capt. Lawler and Lt. Chandler retreated to the bunks. Capt. Wilkins maneuvered the mixing attachment. "I feel crowded," he said.

"Cozy's the word."

"Watch it! Watch it! You almost hit me in the face plate with that!"

"Sorry."

At length the mixer was in operation in the drum.

"Works perfectly," said Capt. Wilkins proudly.

"Now what, Skip? The instructions aren't in English."

"You're supposed to dump the bucket of stuff in. Then clean the area thoroughly around the leak."

"With what?" asked Major Winship.

"Sandpaper, I guess."

"With sandpaper?" Major Winship said, emptying the bucket of fluid into the drum. "We don't have any sandpaper."

"It's been a long day," Capt. Wilkins said.

"Mix it thoroughly," Lt. Chandler mused. "I guess that means let it mix for about ten minutes or so. Then you apply it. It sets for service in just a little bit, Finogenov said. An hour or so, maybe."

"I hope this doesn't set on exposure to air."

"No," Capt. Lawler said. "It sets by some kind of chemical action. General Finogenov wasn't sure of the English name for it. Some kind of plastic."

"Let's come back to how we're going to clean around the leak," Major Winship said.

"Say, I—" interrupted Capt. Wilkins. There was a trace of concern in his voice. "This is a hell of a time for this to occur to me. I just wasn't thinking, before. You don't suppose it's a room-temperature-curing epoxy resin, do you?"

"Larry," said Major Winship, "I wouldn't know a room-temperature-curing epoxy resin from—"

"Hey!" exclaimed Capt. Wilkins. "The mixer's stopped." He bent forward and touched the drum. He jerked back. "Ye Gods! that's hot! And it's harder than a rock! It is an epoxy! Let's get out of here."

"Huh?"

"Out! Out!"

Major Winship, Lt. Chandler, and Capt. Lawler, recognizing the sense of urgency, simultaneously glanced at the drum. It was glowing cherry red.

"Let's go!" Capt. Wilkins said.

He and the Major reached the airlock at the same time and became temporarily engaged with each other. Movement was somewhat ungainly in the space suits under the best of conditions, and now, with the necessity for speed, was doubly so. The other two crashed into them from behind, and they spewed forth from the dome in a tangle of arms and legs.

At the table, they separated, two going to the left, two to the right. The table remained untouched.

When they halted, Capt. Wilkins said, "Get to one side, it may go off like shrapnel." They obeyed.

"What—what—what?" Capt. Lawler stuttered.

They were still separated, two on one side of the airlock, two on the other.

"I'm going to try to look," Capt. Wilkins said. "Let me go." He lumbered directly away from the dome for a distance of about fifteen feet, then turned and positioned himself, some five feet behind the table, on a line of sight with the airlock.

"I can see it," he said. "It's getting redder. It's ... it's ... melting, yes. Melting down at the bottom a little. Now it's falling over to one side and laying on the air tank. The air tank is getting red, too. I'm afraid ... it's weakening it.... Redder. Oh, oh."

"What?" said Capt. Lawler.

"Watch out! There. There!" Capt. Wilkins leaped from his position. He was still floating toward the ground when there was an incredibly bright flare from inside the dome, and a great, silent tongue of flame lashed through the airlock and rolled across the lunar surface. The table was sent tumbling. The flame was gone almost instantly.

"There went the air," Capt. Lawler commented.

"We got T-Trouble," said Lt. Chandler.

IV

During the fifteen-minute wait before they dared venture back, Capt. Wilkins, interrupted once by what appeared to be a moderately mild after-shock from the previous moonquake, explained the phenomena they had just observed.

"A room-temperature-curing epoxy liberates heat during its curing reaction. And the hotter it is when you mix it, the faster it reacts. The drum had been absorbing heat out here for several hours much faster than it could radiate it away. It may have been forty or fifty degrees C when we stirred in the curing agent. At that temperature, a pound mass will normally kick over in five or ten minutes. But here, the only way it can lose the reaction heat is by the slow process of radiation. And that means as the heat builds up, the epoxy goes faster and faster, building up even more heat. And furthermore, we're not talking about a pound, which can maybe get up to 250 C. in air. We're talking about 500 pounds, liberating five hundred times as much heat as one pound, and getting God knows how hot—"

"I sure wish you'd have told me this a little bit earlier," Major Winship said. "I certainly wish you'd told me."

Capt. Wilkins said, "Honest, it never occurred to me Finogenov would be dumb enough to tell us to mix a whole drum of epoxy."

Major Winship began to curse mechanically.

"I don't think he did it deliberately, Charlie. I really don't," Captain Lawler said. "I don't think he knew any better. Maybe he was showing off by giving us a whole drum. Hell, I know he was showing off. But something like that could kill somebody, and I don't think he'd go that far."

"Think it's safe, yet?" Major Winship asked. He was perspiring freely again. "I need some thermal protection. What'll we do? You know damned well. We'll have to go live with them. And that sticks in my craw, gentlemen. That—sticks—in my—craw."'

"There's nothing for it," Capt. Wilkins said helpfully.

"Let me go in and survey the damage," Lt. Chandler said.

"That's my job," Major Winship said. "I've got to go in anyway." He lumbered through the airlock and stepped into the total darkness through the razor-edge curtain.

"I see it glowing, still," he said. "It's almost as bad in here as out there, now. I guess it's okay. Come on. Let's bumble around finding the air bottles for the suits and get over there before I'm a boiled lobster. Not only is my reefer out, so's my light."

"Coming."

An air of urgency began to accumulate.

"What are we going to do with him? It's a half-hour run over there."

"Think you can make it, Charlie?"

"I'm damned well hot."

"Charlie, come out here. In the car. Skip, you get the bottles. You drive."

Major Winship came out. "Lay down in back," Capt. Wilkins said. "Les, you lay down beside him. I'll lay on top of him. I think we can shield him pretty good that way."

"That's good thinking," Capt. Lawler said from inside.

The operation was not easily executed. Lt. Chandler got in first, and then Major Winship squeezed beside him. "Careful, there," he said as Capt. Wilkins came aboard.

Capt. Wilkins's foot rolled off one of Major Winship's thighs.

"Watch it!"

"I am."

"Oops!"

"Ufff! I felt that. Ugh. Thank God for the way these are built."

"How's that?" Capt. Wilkins asked.

"I guess.... It's okay, I guess."

"Cooler?"

"It's too soon to tell. Man, I'll bet we look silly."

Capt. Lawler came out with the bottles and studied his companions for a moment.

"See if we can get up and over a little more, Les."

"This okay?"

"Better. How's it feel, Charlie?"

"Okay."

Cant. Lawler deposited the air bottles. "Everyone got enough air?"

"I guess we're all okay," Capt. Wilkins said.

"Don't we look silly?" Major Winship asked plaintively. "I can't possibly describe my emotions at this minute."

"You look all right," Capt. Lawler said. "Still hot?"

Major Winship grunted. He said nothing.

"I'll get there as fast as I can."

After about ten minutes jarring across the lunar surface, Major Winship said, "I'm not appreciably cooler; but then I'm not appreciably hotter, either."

"Shut up, Charlie. You're a thirty-year man," Lt. Chandler said.

"Old soldiers never die, they just become desiccated."

"I'd like a beer," Major Winship said. "A cold, frosty, foamy beer. Big collar. Gimme a beer, a little shaker of salt—"

"Finogenov's probably got eight or ten cases."

"For once, I hope you're right. Try to bounce a little easier, Larry."

"Russians don't drink beer," Lt. Chandler said.

"You sure?"

"Vodka," Capt Lawler grunted.

"They drink champagne, you idiots," Capt. Wilkins said.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Major Winship said. "Champagne is okay by me. If it's just cold."

"Finogenov will have a few hundred pounds of ice."

"Cut it out," Major Winship said.

"Boy, you wait till we get you back to Earth. When it comes time to reup, I'm going to be there. I'm going to remind you of this one."

"You're a thirty-year man, too, Les," Major Winship said.

"Not me," Lt. Chandler said. "I've had it, dad. I'm going to sell my life story to the movies and spend the rest of my life eating popcorn and watching what an idiot I was. A man can get hurt up here."

"So you want to be a civilian?"

"You're damned right I do," Lt. Chandler said.

"We're about there," Capt. Lawler cut in. "You still okay, Charlie?"

"Fine."

"Here's the little ridge, then. Hold on, we're taking the angle up. You riding okay, Charlie?"

"Fine, Skip."

After a moment, Capt. Lawler said, "I see the base now. The top. Hey!" He slammed on the brakes. "Oh, no! Those ... those fools! Those idiots."

"What's wrong?" Major Winship demanded. "Skip—what's wrong?"

"The second little dome is down. It wasn't that way a couple of hours ago. And they've block-and-tackled a drum of calking compound up on the main dome."

"We've got to stop them!" Major Winship cried. "Skip! Skip!"

"Charlie, there's nothing we can do. The drum's just starting to turn red."

There was silence for a while.

"It's melting through, now. There it goes. Down through the dome. Out of sight." After a moment, Capt. Lawler continued. "Funny how things fall so slowly under this low gravity. It floated through their dome just like a feather. You should have seen it."

Eventually, Lt. Chandler said, "Boys, this is my last hitch."

There was more silence.

Capt. Wilkins mused, "I guess they didn't have a little scale either."

Someone was breathing loudly. At length, Major Winship said reflectively, "Why do you suppose they would try to calk it from the outside?"

Again silence. Major Winship asked the question. "Okay. Let's have it. How's the other little dome?"

"Other one? Oh, sorry," Capt. Lawler said. "It looks all right."

"It better be all right," Lt. Chandler said.

In the end, the eleven of them were crowded into the one remaining operational structure of the four available on the moon at sunrise.

For perhaps the tenth time, General Finogenov offered his apologies. He and Major Winship were huddled side by side in a corner. They were drinking vodka.

"Plenty of everything," General Finogenov said. "Don't concern yourself, Major. Air, food, water, we have more than enough for a prolonged siege."

"Accidents will happen."

"Exactly," said General Finogenov, pouring more vodka for himself. "Glad you understand." He put the empty bottle down. "We will have another one next week. In the meantime—I very much regret the inconvenience. Plenty of food, water, air, though. Pinov! Pinov! Vodka!"

Pinov answered in Russian.

General Finogenov frowned. "Dear, dear," he said. "I'm afraid this must be our last one, Major. You see, while we have plenty of everything else, we are, you see.... The truth of the matter is, we didn't foresee visitors. Unfortunately, we have no more vodka."

"No more vodka," said General Finogenov. He stared morosely into the inky distance. "Major Winship, I have a confession. Oh, that second one was a beauty. You didn't feel it?"

"Our leak sprang on the first one. The second was quite mild, we thought."

"We were right on the fault line," General Finogenov said. "As you Americans say, it was a beauty. I have a confession. One must admit one's mistakes."

"Yes?"

"We used much too large a bomb," he said.

"I'm with you," Lt. Chandler chimed in from somewhere out of the darkness. "But when do you think you're going to get the lights fixed?"

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Table of Contents

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Winning of the Moon, by Kris Neville

The Winning of the Moon

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