Culver said, “The Terralune mine is up at Hyginus Cleft, about four hundred miles south of here. We’ll make it in twenty minutes or so.”
Templin sat down in one of the bucket seats before the dual controls. Culver followed more slowly, strapping himself in before he reached for the jet control levers.
His ship was a little two-ton affair, especially designed for use on the surface of the Moon; powered with chemical fuel, instead of the giant atomics on larger ships, it could carry two persons and a few hundred pounds of cargo—and that was all.
He fed fuel to the tiny jets, paused to give the evaporators a chance to warm up, then tripped the spark contact. There was a brief sputter and a roar. As he advanced the jet lever a muffled grating sound came from underneath, and there was a peculiar jolting, swaying sensation as the rocket danced around on its tail jets for a moment before taking off.
And then they were jet-borne.
Culver swept up to a thousand feet and leveled off, heading toward a huge crater on the horizon. “My first landmark,” he explained to Templin.
Templin nodded silently, staring out at the horizon. Although the sun itself was not yet visible, from their elevation it was just below the horizon curve. As they swept over a depression in the Moon’s wrinkled surface Templin caught a glimpse of unendurable brightness where the sun was; a long, creeping tongue of flame that writhed in a slow snake curl. It was the sun’s corona—a rare sight on the Earth, but always visible on the Moon, where there was no atmosphere to play tricks and blot it out.
Culver said curiously, “I didn’t know you were one of the early Moon explorers. How come you aren’t a millionaire, like the rest of them?”
Templin shrugged. “I keep on the move,” he said ambiguously. “Yes, there were plenty of deals. I could have claimed mining rights, or signed up for lecture tours, or let some rocket-transport company pay me a fat salary for the privilege of putting my name on their board of directors. But I didn’t want it. This way, Terralune pays me pretty well for scouting around the Inner Planets for them. I just put the checks in the bank, anyhow—where I spend my time, you can’t spend your money. Money doesn’t mean anything on Venus.”
Culver nodded. His fingers danced skillfully over the jet keys as the nose of the rocket wavered a hairbreadth off course. Under control, the ship came around a couple of degrees until it was again arrowing straight for its target on the horizon, hurtling over the ancient, jagged face of the Moon.
Culver said casually, “I sort of envy you, Temp. It must be a terrific feeling to see things that no man has ever seen before. I guess that’s why I came to the Moon, looking for things like that. But heaven knows, it’s getting more like Earth—and the slums of the Earth, at that—every day. Ever since they put that Dome on Mount Hadley the place has been crummy with billionaire tourists.”
Templin nodded absently. His attention was fixed on the rear-view periscope. He frowned. “Culver,” he said. “What’s that coming up behind us?”
CULVER glanced at the scope. “Oh, that. Pleasure rocket. Looks like Joe Olcott’s ship—he’s got about the biggest space-yacht around. Only his isn’t really a pleasure ship, because he pulled some political strings and got himself a vice commander’s commission in the Security Patrol, which means that his yacht rates as an auxiliary. No guns on it, of course; but the Patrol pays his fuel bills.”
“A sweet racket,” said Templin. “But what the devil is he so close for? If he doesn’t watch out he’s going to get his nose blistered. Way he’s going now he’ll be blasting right into our rocket exhaust.”
Culver stared worriedly at the periscope. The fat bullet-shaped rocket yacht behind them was getting bigger in the scope, little more than a mile behind them. Then he exhaled. “There he goes,” said Culver. The other ship swung its nose a few degrees off to the west. It was a big fast job, burning twice as much fuel as their light crater-jumper, and it slid past them not more that a quarter of a mile away, going in the same direction.
“Joe Olcott,” said Templin. “I begin to think that I’m not going to like Mr. Olcott. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me; his jaw will be sore for a day or two to help him remember.”
Culver grinned and fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette. “He’s one of the billionaire tourists I was telling you about, Temp,” he said. He sucked on the cigarette, puffed out blue smoke which the air purifiers drew in. “Olcott’s about the worst of the bunch, I guess. Not only is he a rich man, but he’s mixed up in—Hey! What’re you doing?”
Culver squawked in surprise as Templin, swearing incandescently, dove past him to get at the jet controls. Then Culver’s eyes caught what Templin had seen a fraction of a second earlier. The big, bullet-shaped rocket had passed them, then come around in a wide arc, plunging head-on at their little ship at a good fifty-mile-a-minute clip.
Templin, sputtering oaths, was clawing at the controls. Under his frantic fingers their ship came slowly over…too slowly. The bullet-shaped ship, carrying twice their jets, came at them until it was a scant hundreds of yards away. Then it switched ends in a tight 10-gravity power turn. When the steering jets had brought it around the space-yacht’s pilot fed full power to his main-drive jets.
And deadly, white-hot gases from the rocket exhausts came flaring at Templin and Culver.
THE LITTLE ship quivered in a death-agony. Templin, white-lipped and soundless now, did the only thing left to him. He cut every jet; the crater-jumper was tossed about in the torrent of flaming gasses from the other ship and hurled aside. The Moon’s gravity drew it down and out of danger. Then Templin thrust over the main-drive jets again, checking their fall in a fierce deceleration maneuver. The impact almost blanked Culver out; for a moment dark red specks floated before his eyes. When his vision cleared, he found them settling on their jets in the middle of a five-acre rock plain that formed the center of a small crater.
Templin fought the controls until the landing-struts touched rock. Then he cut jets; the swaying, unstable motion ceased and they were grounded.
Culver shook his head dazedly. “What the devil happened?” he gasped.
“Wait!” Templin’s voice was urgent. Culver looked at him in astonishment, but held his tongue. Templin sat stock-still for a second, his bearing one of extreme concentration. Then he relaxed. “Don’t hear any escaping air,” he reported; “I guess the hull’s still in one piece.” He peered through the vision port at the black star-filled sky overhead. The long trail of rocket flame from the other ship came around in a sweeping curve that circled over them twice. Then, apparently satisfied, the other pilot straightened out. The flame trail pointed straight back the way they had come as the space-yacht picked up speed. In a moment it was out of sight.
Templin smiled a chill smile. “He thinks he got us,” he said. “Let him go on thinking so—for now.”
“Tell me what that was all about.” Culver demanded. “Two years I’ve been on the Moon, and nothing like this has ever happened to me before. What in heaven’s name was he trying to do?”
Templin looked at him mildly. “Kill us, I should think,” he said. “He came close enough to it, too.”
“But why?”
Templin shrugged. “That’s what I mean to find out. It might be because he’s the man I slugged back in the Dome—but I doubt it. Or it might be because he thinks I can put Terralnne’s mine back on its feet. Wish I shared his confidence.”
He unbuckled his safety straps and stood up. “This tub got a radio?” he demanded.
Culver, still pondering over what he had said, looked at him glassily a second. “Radio? Oh—no, of course not. Ship radios don’t work on the Moon. You should know that.”