All this I saw in glimpses over two or three seconds, as I soared upwards in pursuit of the Phaeton.
At last the pressure in my arms eased, and I realized that my lens must be approaching the top of its nest of pillars. I looked up and saw that the ends of the pillars were indeed very close—but, far beyond them, I could see the underside of another lens-beast, larger and higher than the Phaeton’s. It moved toward the Phaeton lens in a quite menacing fashion.
I had no idea what this meant, but doubted that it was a good sign; and as soon as I was able I hauled myself over the lip of the rock, dragging my hose and ice bag behind me. I had imagined that the Phaeton might have been shaken free, or at least, tumbled over and smashed; but, to my relief, she still clung to the hill, and even remained upright. Out of a corner of my eye I noticed that the model of the Great Eastern had been smashed under a fallen rock; only a few fragments of metal and glass showed where I had set her no more than hours earlier.
I hurried toward the ship. I saw how Holden and Pocket were peering from the windows in my direction—and I could see the unreserved joy with which they greeted my appearance from the dead, water-bag and all. Holden gestured at me to hurry; but I needed no urging!
Traveller had explained to me how a hatch at the lower skirt of the hull could be opened for the deposition of ice. I scrambled up a landing leg with an adroitness that surprised me, found the hatch, undogged its latches as Traveller had taught me, and was soon emptying my bag of ice into the tanks. Hastily I scooped up handfuls from my hill of collected ice and crammed them, too, into the hatch. I had to fumble at all of this with my mittened hands and the more I hurried the more I spilled ice wastefully; I was conscious the whole time that should our lens-host take it into its mind to go for a jaunt then surely I and the Phaeton would be hurled to an untimely death; and all the while, at the edge of my vision, I could see that other monster lens towering over the Phaeton’s, and drawing ever nearer.
At last it was done. I closed the hatch, hurled the empty bag far from me and dropped away from the ship’s leg, waving to Holden. I scrambled up the rope ladder which led to my air cupboard, eyeing the rocket nozzles nervously; as soon as Traveller could fire his engines he would surely not hesitate to do so, whether or not I was safely aboard, and so I had seconds to make myself secure. I hauled myself through the narrow hatchway, landing in the cupboard chest first like a fish and then hauling my legs behind me; I dragged in the rope ladder and my dangling air hose and was reaching for the hatch—
—when the rockets fired.
I was thrown against the bulkhead. My body was dragged toward the still-open hatch; I scrabbled at the riveted iron with my hands and legs, and for a terrifying period I lay crucified over the open hatchway, my head dangling on a stalk of neck.
The rockets raised a cloud of dust and pebbles from the carapace of our lens-beast.
The ship lurched abruptly sideways, and I had to latch my fingers around bulkhead plates. Then the lip of the larger lens-beast, which had towered over the Phaeton, slid across my field of view; and I realized that Traveller had been forced to drag us across the sky to avoid this second monster.
As we lifted out of the chaos of the Moon I saw how the greater beast had moved to cover ours completely—and then, with brutal suddenness, it dropped down its tube of pillars. The pillars of the lens on which we had rested were smashed to rubble, and fragments went wheeling across the landscape; both lenses were dashed to a thousand pieces against the ground. But this was not the end of it, for the fragmented lenses seemed to dissolve in a ferment of activity—I caught glimpses of tendrils of stone weaving through the debris and knitting it, it seemed, into a new whole; and I wondered if this were some astonishing form of lunar mating. And then the rising dust obscured my view.
As we rose and the lunar landscape opened out, I realized that this extraordinary merger was just one incident among thousands, for the entire plain was covered, I saw now, with similar maneuverings, couplings, and obscene devourings!
At last I dragged myself away from the lip of the port and allowed the hatch to close, shutting out my view of the receding Moon. I lay against the thrumming metal, sucking at thin air.
11
A SCIENTIFIC DISCUSSION
I do not remember the stilling of the engines; I must have floated in my iron coffin for several minutes. Then willing hands drew me gently out of my box and pulled away my helmet. I came to my senses still in the suit and with the copper ring chafing at my neck, but with my head free, and with the comparatively fresh air of the Cabin sweet in my nostrils.
Holden’s round face hovered before me, wearing an expression of genuine concern, and I grabbed his arm. “Holden! And have we survived? Are we free of the Moon?”
“Yes, my friend—”
“Of course we are!” Traveller barked from behind Holden. “If we aren’t off the Moon what are we doing floating around the Cabin? Perhaps we have been stuffing opium into our pipes, eh? What a pity your jaunt hasn’t un-addled your brains, my boy—” Sir Josiah’s eyes were fixed on me, and—though he seemed to be endeavoring to conceal it—I flattered myself that there was some pleasure in his stern countenance at the evidence of my recovery.
But Holden turned to him and said, “By God, Traveller, can you not desist? For all our sakes the boy has just been through a veritable nightmare, and all you can do is—”
“Holden.” I laid a restraining hand on the journalist’s arm. “Do not trouble yourself; Sir Josiah means no harm. It is just his way.”
Holden caught my meaning and said no more; though his face registered a reluctance to let the matter drop—and in the subsequent days I was to observe how his manner to Traveller had become noticeably frostier, a change which was evidenced in a thousand trivial exchanges.
Holden, it seemed, would have no truck with those whom he suspected of unsound views, whatever their achievements.
I was fed a clear, warming broth. Then I was allowed, for the first time in several days, a bath; and thus I became the first human to bathe in lunar water! I entertained some qualms as I entered the concealed bath, for what if the water contained some unknown agent inimical to human life?—but, now that it had been run through the Phaeton’s filter system, the Moon water looked, smelled and even tasted like any common-or-garden rainwater; and Traveller assured me that he had run a series of chemical tests on it before confirming its suitability for human contact and consumption.
At length I was safely lodged in my familiar seat. I was warm, bathed and dressed in my combinations and a towelling robe of Traveller’s, and I held a large globe of Traveller’s oldest brandy in one hand and a fine-scented cigar in the other. I began to feel rather proud of my exploits—now that they were safely in the past. Holden and Traveller sat with me, as did Bourne, who maintained his usual resentful silence. The stoical Pocket, unflappable, was working his way through several days’ backlog of begrimed dishes. “So, gentlemen,” I said, “in the end, quite a remarkable adventure.”
Holden raised his globe and peered into the glimmering depths of the brandy within. “Quite so. And not at all as we expected. We did not find anything resembling Earthly conditions, as we had anticipated—but nor did we find the Moon to be the inert and lifeless arena favored by some theorists.”