Moon of Mutiny Read online

  Fred found Dr. Sessions waiting inside his tractor

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  when he came down after breakfast. He managed to smile at the sight. There was plenty of room for three or four people in the tractor, but Sessions would normally have ridden in the more comfortable laboratory. His presence could only mean he wasn't certain of his new tractor driver.

  Sessions smiled back, as if acknowledging the fact, but he said nothing about it. Instead he glanced at his watch. "We'll get rolling in about ten minutes. I hear you were out getting used to the machine."

  "I thought I'd better, sir," Fred said. He'd spent an hour in practice with the control levers—one for each track—which steered the tractor. "It isn't very difficult."

  "No, I suppose not, if you're mechanically inclined. Familiar with the general course?"

  Fred nodded. He'd studied the maps. The other two expeditions had kept to a limited distance from Emmett Base; this one was to go on into new territory. For the first day, they'd be following trails already marked. After that, they would have to depend on photographs in picking the trail. On the Moon, such photographs weren't as helpful as they might be, since the shadows were too black and the highlights too white for fine details to show. Their course westward would be mostly a matter of trial and error.

  "You'll lead off," Sessions said. "You're the youngest driver and you probably have the best reflexes in case of trouble. Also, I'd rather lose the lab than one of the trailers with people in it. Might as well get started."

  Fred fed power into the motor carefully. It was under the floor, and a faint hissing was transmitted from it. He took a deep breath and reached for the levers. The tractor began moving, with slight jerks as the trailers were brought into motion. They picked up speed slowly until they were traveling at nearly ten miles an hour. In the mirror, Fred could see the other two tractors following.

  Sessions sat back and relaxed, though his eyes were still busy. However, the convoy was traveling over a flat crater bed, where there wasn't much to worry about.

  "I suppose you got most of your idea of what we're after from the papers?" he asked Fred casually. "Of course. You weren't briefed, since we didn't expect you to go out with us. Well, it doesn't much matter, since we've got plenty of time for briefing later."

  "I'm a little curious," Fred said. He suspected the older man was planning to do most of the briefing right then, and he welcomed it.

  Most of it was quite technical, and he had only a dim knowledge of geology. Sessions began with what the first expeditions had found. They'd charted a number of craters and pretty well established that the craters were caused by meteorites; they'd even found a meteorite in the bottom of one very small crater. There were evidences of lava flow in other places, indicating that the Moon once must have had a hotter core, and there was still some activity going on. Gas was seeping up from fumaroles. The expeditions had determined the normal level of radiation on the Moon and found it quite low. They'd looked unsuccessfully for life. The old idea that there might be a layer of matter related to life just under the surface hadn't proved true, though a few dead spores were found which might have drifted all the way from Earth. They'd also found that the great rays seemed to be splashed across the surface as if light material had been thrown up volcanically, but they had no idea of the real cause of these formations.

  "It doesn't sound as if they'd accomplished much," Fred observed.

  "The scientific work doesn't sound like much," Sessions agreed. "But you'd be surprised how the general picture of Earth and the Moon is changing because now we have a few exact measurements. Earth was also studied through a telescope, you know. You must have heard of that."

  Fred had heard—probably there was no one who hadn't learned of the great iron ore deposits in Africa located through hints in photographs taken from the Moon.

  The present expedition was of a different kind. Instead of trying to learn a little about everything, it was expected to make an intensive study of the Moon's crust, which seemed to hold the key to most of the remaining puzzles. One area toward which they were heading seemed to have the greatest promise for discovery. They hoped to locate deposits of ore that might be useful to colonists here, and they would keep a careful watch for evidence of uranium. The major research tools would be the sensitive instruments that could measure ground shocks from tiny explosions, analyzing the way they spread through the surface and bounced back from deeper layers.

  They came to a stop for lunch. Better time could have been made by using relief drivers, but Sessions believed that it paid in the long run to stick to an Earth-type day and night schedule. After traveling any distance, he felt it wise to check machines and give the men real rest that couldn't be had in the pitching motion over the surface. When lunch was over, he motioned Fred back into the tractor, then headed for the headquarters laboratory himself. Although, he could keep in touch by radio, Fred felt it was a sign of confidence, and it made him feel better.

  They were coming into unmarked territory when they halted for dinner, inspection and sleep. There was a range of low mountains ahead through which they had to break a trail, and that would be rough going. He and the other drivers spent half an hour with Sessions, going over the best possible route. Finally Fred snapped his helmet down, checked his oxygen tank automatically, and picked up a metal-foil umbrella. In the glaring heat from the sun, the umbrella was a necessity. There was a hummock of rock ahead; it should be possible to get a better view of the jagged mountains from that. Sessions came along.

  The trail they had picked still looked best, however, and they headed back toward the trailers, bending their course around a couple of jagged boulders. As they moved back, Fred spotted another figure coming toward them, trotting along at a rate deceptively easy in the light gravity and brushing against one of the rocks.

  Fred let out a yell, flipping on his radio transmitter. The approaching figure seemed not to notice; perhaps its receiver wasn't on. With another yell, Fred dived for the figure, catching it around the waist and yanking it back from the rocks. Then his eyes widened as he saw the oxygen gauge. He lifted the spacesuited body over his head and began running toward the nearest trailer;

  in spite of the kicking going on, it wasn't too hard to handle such a weight for a few hundred feet in the low gravity.

  Sessions was already ahead, working the air lock. They piled through it quickly, and Fred unlocked the helmet and tossed it back to show the angry face and coppery hair of Mona Williams.

  She started to say something, but Sessions cut her off. "Silence!" His voice was sharp enough to quiet her anger and to bring the rest of the company up from the social discussion that had been going on. "You probably just had your life saved, young lady. All right, Fred. You know space conditions. You tell her."

  Fred was panting a little, but he found his voice almost as stern as Sessions. "There were a lot of things. First, no umbrella . . ."

  "For that little distance?" she cut in.

  "For any distance. By the time you feel the heat through your helmet, it's too late. Second, you were scraping your suit against the rocks. Those rocky outcroppings have sharp points, and it doesn't take much to put a hole in a suit. And third, you hadn't checked the meters for your radio batteries—which were dead—or your oxygen tank, which was empty."

  "And finally," Sessions said grimly, "I gave orders nobody was to go outside alone under any conditions. It isn't the first time you've been impatient with details and orders, Dr. Williams. Maybe you'll have time to think it over during the next week, since you'll do all the cleaning up after meals. And the next time, I won't be so easy on anyone."

  There were mutters of protest, and he swung to face the group.

  "You've heard about it, now you'd all better realize it—you're out in the middle of a world of sudden, sometimes horrible death. Anyone of the seemingly little things Mr. Halpern mentioned could kill a man—and would, if he were alone. There are temperature extremes, lack of air, and unknown
terrain, all threatening you. Beside this, life at the South Pole or in the worst jungles is simple. The only way we can live is to use our heads. You'd better learn that. Anyone who hasn't been in space before has to take any advice either Mr. Hal-pern or I give you. Otherwise, the first time you get careless or forget, we may have to bury you."

  The going was tougher the next day, as they began moving into mountainous country. Here the photographs of the area taken from above were less reliable than elsewhere. Jagged rocks were everywhere. The tractors could climb over fairly rough obstacles, and the multiple wheels of the trailers were almost as effective. But nothing could scale a cliff wall. There were times when they seemed to inch ahead, and often it was necessary to backtrack and find a way around some obstacle. Fred was leading again, glad this time to have Sessions riding with him to choose the most likely way.

  The dangers of the Moon appeared more real here. In spite of this, there was a strange beauty to this world. The sharp rock faces were often colored by minerals, and the glare of the sun overhead was reflected and re-reflected from rock to rock, softening the shadows until it was hard to believe there was no air to diffuse the light.

  The very sharpness of the unworn rocks gave the Moon a beauty totally unlike anything on Earth.

  They were near the top of a mountain range at lunch-time, but they had run into a point where Sessions felt it better to send men on foot ahead to spot the trail. They found a way leading along a rock ledge barely wide enough to hold the tractors, with a thousand-foot drop below. The ledge was covered with broken shards that had to be cleared away to prevent the tractors slipping. Fred didn't envy the two men Sessions chose for the job.

  At the end of the day, with the descent barely begun, they stopped at the first safe place. Fred pointed out through the side port of the tractor. "From up here, it isn't hard to see where we should have come. See—down there, through that gorge?"

  Sessions held up his map. He'd already marked off the trail for the return trip.

  It took another day to get through the mountains. They were beginning to fall behind schedule, but they expected to make better time in the flatter areas. However, a new phenomenon appeared: something like a low mist over the flats. To Fred's surprise, his viewing ports slowly began to grow murky, as if something were settling on them.

  The drivers and Sessions stopped and found it was dust. Sessions seemed unsurprised as he discussed it with Ruth Miles, the expedition astronomer.

  Nobody had found a large area covered with the dust before, but astronomers had predicted it; it had been observed as a false "atmosphere" for radar signals. The dust was so fine that it picked up a charge from the solar particles which struck the surface—the same particles causing the Van Allen belts around Earth. Since any two bodies having the same charge tend to repel each other, the dust grains moved apart. They were so fine that the charge lifted them off the surface of the Moon and formed what seemed to be a mist.

  "What created all the dust here?" Fred asked. There was no action of wind and rain to wear away the rocks.

  "I haven't any idea. Maybe expansion and cooling between day and night temperature extremes." Sessions shook his head. "It is finer than I'd expect it to be from that, however. We'll take samples and let the experts on Earth figure out what they can. We should run a voltage gradient check to determine the charge, too."

  The dancing dust made it harder to see the ground, forcing them to go more slowly. Everything was all right for the rest of the day. It wasn't until the following day that they came to a great fissure that split the flat territory apart. It was far too wide and deep to cross, and it stretched as far as they could see. The maps drawn from the photographs showed no sign of it. Apparently it had been masked by the dust.

  There was no way of being sure of the best direction, but the crevasse seemed to grow slightly narrower toward the north, so they turned right. The most they could hope for was that it would prove fairly short.

  In that, their hopes were false. Two days were spent following the great split before it finally came to an abrupt end, the crack narrowing from its full width to nothing in only a mile or so. Then they turned west again and tried to make up for lost time. Now, however, the sun was sinking nearer the horizon, lengthening the shadows and glaring through the filters over the ports.

  They were moving at a cautious five miles an hour when Fred felt the nose of the tractor jerk downward abruptly. His hands shoved the controls, stopping the tracks and spinning them backward violently, but it was too late. The headquarters trailer behind bumped him forward, to be followed by a smaller bump from the supply trailer. The tractor slid forward and down at a 45-degree angle before he could stop it.

  Fortunately, the air lock was in the rear. He snapped on his helmet and was outside, just as Sessions and several men from the other tractors came up to him. From the ground, it was easy to see that the tractor had broken through a thin crust into an underground hole.

  "Good work, Fred," Sessions said over the intersuit radio. "A fraction of a second slower response and you d have gone in. Think you can back out if we get the trailers out of the way?"

  Fred remembered the lack of response from the tracks. "I think you'd better pull me out with another tractor," he decided, glad to see quick approval from the leader.

  It proved to be nothing serious, though it wasted time. In another hour, they were moving ahead again, reducing speed still further in case they encountered other faults in the surface. There was no way to detect them in advance. It was one more risk the expedition had to take.

  The next two days were uneventful, though the dust got thicker as they reached the bottom of the great plain. When the sun sank lower, however, the dust began to sink back toward the surface, drifting into the hollows. Apparently there were no longer enough charged particles reaching the surface to maintain the repulsion.

  Sometimes the tracks of the tractor threw the dust up from small hollows. At other times, the stuff was so fine that it behaved almost like a lubricant under the tracks, making them slip.

  Fred wasn't startled later when the tractor began slipping at an angle. Suddenly he realized it was actually moving sideways, as if sliding down a steep incline. He threw power on, putting more on one track than the other. The response was slow at first, but it began to right the machine's movements and for a second, bring it away from the slip; a moment later, the sideways lurch was more pronounced.

  Again he stepped up the power until the motor was hissing at its maximum. The right tread spun wildly, caught, then spun again. This time the tractor slewed around and began climbing out of the dust.

  The mirror showed worse news, though. The big trailer was also sliding sideways, deeper into the dust. Sessions, riding in the lead tractor again, noticed it at the same time and motioned for more speed, but the motor was already doing its best.

  Then the treads bit and sent the tractor lurching forward. The trailer skidded further and started to sink.

  Suddenly the big hitch that connected tractor to trailer snapped apart under the strain.

  The trailer went on skidding to the right and away from the tractor. As they watched, it sank deeper and deeper.

  By the time the two men could get through the tractor's air lock, the roof of the trailer had vanished completely under the dust, carrying their most important instruments and several of the men with it.

  Chapter 8 w

  most of the other men from the expedition were piling out of the trailers and gathering around to stare at the place where the laboratory trailer had sunk. Sessions waved them back, giving instructions over his radio.

  "The men inside the laboratory are perfectly safe, if that pit isn't too deep, and there's nothing most of you can do. Unless you have some specific ideas to help, go back to your regular places." He studied the ground with care as the others drew back reluctantly. "It can't be more than a couple hundred feet across the dust pocket—you can see rocks over there that must be close to the surfa
ce. I suppose we can probe with rods to locate the trailer."

  "I could try going down after it and attaching a cable to the hitch," Fred offered.

  The dust behaved like quicksand, only its action was much faster. It was as fine as the best grade of talcum, almost like a liquid in its ability to give under pressure. A man in a spacesuit should be safe in it unless the slope leading down under it was too steep for him to return.

  Two of the other men who had been listening now came up to Sessions. "Better let us do it, sir," Mike Bo-

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  land suggested. "Dr. Wallace and I both had experience at the South Pole, and this is a lot like losing one of the sleds in a snow pocket."

  Fred recognized the wisdom of it, even before Sessions agreed. He went to one of the big lockers along the side of the tractor and began removing a length of cable that could be hitched to the trailer. He had just uncoiled it when a shout over the radio made him swing around.

  There was a little stirring in the dust, and the antenna tip of the buried trailer poked up. At its full extension, it was about two feet above the dust level.

  Mona Williams' voice sounded faintly in his headphones. "Everybody all right down here. Am I reaching you?"

  The dust was grounding the signal enough to weaken it. While Sessions answered, Fred grinned in reluctant admiration at the tone of her words. The girl seemed completely unafraid; her voice held only impatience and annoyance.

  Now that they had a clear idea of the location of the trailer and the depth of the dust trap, the work was greatly simplified. An examination of the broken hitch on the tractor showed that it would have to be replaced.