“But it does lead to a very interesting question,” Darzek told himself. “Just how do they expect me to do it? Sneeze violently when one of these exploring parties is passing by? Run to the window and scream for help? Open the door—”
He dropped meditatively to his sleeping pad, and muttered aloud, “I think, Mr. Darzek, that it is high time you became a detective again.”
“I beg your pardon?” Zachary said, turning towards him.
“Nothing,” Darzek said, waving him away.
The door. Logic insisted that they would have some kind of exit; and if logic was a dangerous thing to apply to aliens, there was supporting evidence. Alice had repaired the damage done by the explosion. She had replaced a cap, or plug, or whatever, and expertly removed the external traces, if there were any. How did she get outside to do it? Or could she have done it from inside?
Darzek conceded himself one door.
The next question was more difficult. How did they expect him to use it? Fling it open and leap out into the arms of the explorers? He would be dead before they were fully aware of his presence. Call out to them, and then slam it and wait until they came with an extra Moon suit? Sound did not travel on the surface of the Moon—he must have read that somewhere—and if it did they wouldn’t be able to hear him through their suits. Leave the door ajar—it must have an air lock, like the huts—and thus attract attention? Perhaps. Its camouflage would be perfect, but opening it could be expected to destroy the effect somewhat. This proposition seemed naïve to Darzek, but—perhaps.
“Wait!” he muttered.
If Alice went outside to repair the explosion damage, she must have had some kind of Moon suit of her own. Perhaps all of the aliens had such suits. If, with the help of his automatic, he obtained possession of one, what would prevent him from strolling over to observe the activities of the new base at close range?
“That’s it!” he told himself.
It was the only explanation that made any sense. But where did they keep the suits, and where the devil was that door? Perhaps both were within an arm’s length of him, but he had no way of knowing. He had scrupulously refrained from snooping about the capsule when he had the chance, and now he regretted it.
But at last he had an idea.
He went to his bin, fully conscious of the watchful eyes above him, and nonchalantly picked out his watch. “What time is it in New York City?” he asked Zachary.
“I do not know,” Zachary said. “Why do you ask?”
“Never mind. I’ll manage without it.”
The greatest detective job of his career was just before him.
CHAPTER 18
Darzek watched the new base incessantly, taking brief catnaps when he had to, and then leaping back to the viewer with frantic concern for what he might have missed. The flooding shadow of the eastern rim came into sight, creeping relentlessly towards the silver huts. Darzek’s eyes returned to it again and again—uneasily, because it marked the silent passage of time.
And he did not know how much time he had.
For the first twenty-four hours the activity about the base was chaotic. For the second it was merely confused, but it was not until midway through the third day that Darzek could discern the emergence of a routine.
A few casual inquiries of Zachary, an innocent-appearing request to see as much of the crater as the viewer could show him, and the pattern was suddenly crystal-clear. Darzek exultantly retired to his sleeping pad to contemplate the significance of what he had learned.
There were undoubtedly worse places on the Moon for a base than this particular crater, but they could not have been much worse. Or so Darzek reasoned. The rim looked formidable, and even if trained men were able to climb or blast their way out it seemed certain that the operation would not be worth the effort. There were few places to go once they got out. The crater was, Zachary assured him, located at the approaches of one of the Moon’s most rugged wastelands. It was virtually inaccessible from without, and the without was virtually inaccessible from within. The aliens had located their base in its rim for that very reason. The crater offered nothing that could not be had in hundreds of more conveniently located craters, and the aliens had confidently expected that this one would long remain unmolested.
Suddenly this obscure crater had become important. Fire flashed on the edge of its northern rim. Earth scientists considered the occurrence of sufficient import to justify a special expedition. The other disadvantages remained, however, and in the normal course of events, once the expedition had convinced itself that the explosion, or eruption, or whatever, had left no traces—if indeed there had ever been one—and perfunctorily examined the crater, it would have achieved its purpose. The ship would be off on its return journey to Earth, or to replant the expedition in some more promising location.
But something had occurred that swung events far from their normal course. The expedition’s equipment included a transmitter, and it worked. Anyone could visit the Moon in no more time than it took to step through a doorway, and the volume of supplies the expedition could expend each day was limited only by the volume that could be hauled through that same doorway in twenty-four hours.
It was perhaps unfortunate that this unexpected largess could not be directed at New Frontier City or Lunaville, where it could be legitimately absorbed without appointing a committee to think up a use for it; but no matter. Transmitters would be shipped to those bases with their next supplies. In the meantime, here was this out-of-the-way crater, comparatively safe as landscape went on the Moon, unexciting and unimportant since there really hadn’t been an explosion, but instantly accessible to anyone or anything that could pass through a transmitter.
What better place could be devised for training novice Moon explorers? They could accustom themselves to the gravity, to the Moon suits, to the vehicles, to the general living conditions, and be served a sampling of problems in Moon exploration in properly diluted form. They could follow a carefully contrived, step-by-step training schedule, two hours of this and one of that, and work up to overnight expeditions to the other side of the crater and mountain climbing on carefully selected slopes of crater wall. The crater would contain them more effectively than a fenced yard ever contained children at play back on Earth. They might find places to hide, but they would have a devilishly difficult time getting lost.
Further, they could receive this training without consuming costly, rocket-borne supplies. They could return to their Earth base at the end of the day, or, if their training schedule permitted, even for lunch. For the first time in the history of Moon exploration, Earth’s twenty-four-hour day had become something more than an abstract reference.
Darzek wondered wryly how the cantankerous lunatics at New Frontier City and Lunaville would take to the transmitter. Their belovedly hostile Moon environment would grow soft, even plush, before their disbelieving eyes.
Once Darzek had pursued this line of thought to its logical conclusions, he had little difficulty in sorting out the routine of the new base. The novices arrived twice daily, and marched out in formation for two-hour romps in Moon environment. Three men, evidently scientists, arrived each morning, Earth time, spent the day methodically searching the crater wall with instruments, and went home—to Earth—at night. There were innumerable sight-seers whose portly importance was masked by their Moon suits. They were taking advantage of the transmitter for a first-hand glimpse of the Moon, and they gawked, walked about cautiously, and then returned to Earth.
And there were three men who acted as caretakers. They remained at the base, superimposing Earth’s day and night activities upon the Moon’s diurnal month. These men interested Darzek intensely. Apparently they had first established themselves in the smaller hut, where the transmitter was located; but they quickly came to resent the volume of traffic that passed through their living quarters, and on the second day they moved into the large storage hut. Darzek silently but fervently thanked them.
The scientis
ts had a small hut of their own, which they set up near their work area. It was perhaps designed for some technical or emergency function, but Darzek surmised that its principal use was as a site for midday meals and coffee breaks. The scientists also had their own vehicle, of which there were now four in the crater, and the assistance of any or all of the novices when they required it.
* * * *
The third day came to a peaceful close. The novices left in midafternoon; the scientists, working late by Darzek’s calculations, in the evening. The caretakers moved about leisurely, shifting supplies, tidying things up. Finally they retired to their quarters. Darzek continued to watch at intervals until his calculations told him it was midnight.
His plan was ready. There was only one more thing that he needed to know: How much time did he have?
He said to Zachary, “I think we should have a conference.”
“Certainly. What would you like to confer about?”
“All of us, I mean.”
“If you like.”
They filed down the ladder and stood in a tight arc facing him. Their expressions were blank as always, and yet he felt as certain of their emotions, now, as if they were crisp messages received on radar. The aliens were suspicious, agonizingly suspicious. They expected trickery, and they were alerted to deal with it. And they were afraid.
Darzek stood with his back firmly against the bin holding his personal possessions. “I have a plan,” he announced, “but I need to know something. How much time do I have in which to carry it out?”
“Alice feels that we should not know about the time,” Zachary said.
“Ask her—but never mind. First I must supply a reason for her to change her mind. You have a Code. You are sworn to uphold it. I, also, wish to swear to uphold it, or as much of it as I know. What ceremony would be appropriate?”
The reaction was a breathless, dumbfounded silence. Alice finally asked a question, received an answer, and the five of them stared at the top of Darzek’s head.
“We do not understand,” Zachary said. “Why should you swear to uphold our Code?”
“Why not?” Darzek asked. “Isn’t it a good Code?”
There was no answer.
“I have a plan that may save all of us—save us as you would wish to be saved. To carry it out we must work with mutual trust and co-operation. Therefore I must accept your Code without qualification, and you must accept me as one of you. I have thought long about this. It is the only way.”
“We, too, have thought long about it—about saving all of us,” Zachary said. “There is no way that does not involve excessive risk.”
“An argument will settle nothing,” Darzek said impatiently. He raised his right hand. “I solemnly swear by all that is sacred to your people and to mine that I will uphold and adhere to your Code as it is known to me. Is that satisfactory?”
“Perfectly satisfactory,” Zachary said. “I cannot see that it alters our situation, but it may seem preferable to you to die in a just cause.”
“My concern is with living in a just cause. You said you had a base in New York City. Tell me this—is there a transmitting device at that base?”
“Certainly.”
“Is it still operating?”
“It operates automatically when—”
“Never mind. Would it operate now if you had access to the transmitter out there at the base, and made contact with it?”
“Certainly. Believe me, Jan Darzek, we have considered this. It would require delicate adjustments, perhaps even drastic changes, to make that transmitter operate with ours. These would require much time. We are certain that one of us could not reach that base, and work long on that transmitter, without being detected. We cannot take such a chance.”
“Now look at it my way,” Darzek said. “I understand these men as you never will, and I understand their routine. I would not be running the same risk as you, simply because I am a man, and could possibly talk my way out of any difficulty that developed. Whichever one of you worked on that transmitter would have me standing by. But I must know how much time we have. Just to be on the safe side I’d like another day, to confirm my observations. Will you ask Alice if our air will last for—oh, make it twenty-six hours.”
The aliens continued to stare at him; or rather, past him. Zachary translated his question, and for a long time Alice said nothing at all. Suddenly she looked at Darzek. Never before had one of them met his gaze directly, and he realized with a start that her colorless, sunken eyes were faintly luminous. Then she spoke—one word.
“No,” Zachary said.
“No? Then it will have to be done tonight. Immediately. They’re asleep now, and we should have plenty of time before morning. Certainly the job could be done in two or three hours. Do we have three hours left?”
Zachary translated. Alice did not answer.
“Tell me this,” Darzek said. “You do have some space suits, don’t you? Or Moon suits, or whatever they are.”
“We have only one vacuum suit,” Zachary said, “for emergencies. We did not come here to explore your Moon.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’d hoped for two, at least. That means we’ll have to steal one from the base.”
“You cannot be serious,” Zachary said. “Do you expect to find such equipment lying around for the taking?”
“Certainly. With as many visitors as they’ve had, they would have to keep a number of suits on hand for emergencies. I’ve seen a spare one on the scientist’s vehicle, and there’s certain to be a rack of them at the base. Do we have three hours?”
Zachary translated again. Alice looked long at Darzek, and then she spoke.
She said no.
CHAPTER 19
Darzek looked blinkingly at the silent aliens. He’d had almost no sleep for three days, and he was fearfully tired. “How much time do we have?” he demanded.
Alice answered at some length, and Zachary translated. “We are now using our last reserve tank, and the gauge reads empty. The gauge may not be precisely accurate, but it is certain that we have very little time. Once the tank is empty we have only the air on these two levels of the capsule, and we use air much faster than your people, Jan Darzek. We are truly sorry that we cannot use your plan, but as you see, it came much too late.”
“If we start at once, it might be done in one hour. What do we have to lose?”
“Everything,” Zachary said.
“Yes. You’re right, of course, but if we manage this thing properly we have nothing to lose. At least let’s try the first step, and see if we can get a hold of another suit. Where do you keep yours?”
The silence was long and tense. Darzek looked from one blank face to another, and hoped fervently that he would not have to use the automatic. He watched Zachary expectantly, but to his amazement it was Ysaye who moved.
“I shall get the vacuum suit,” the young alien said, and rippled open a tall compartment. He hauled out the suit, and handed it over to Darzek. “It will not fit you,” he added.
“I’ll make it fit,” Darzek said grimly, but as he held the enormous thing up full length he had more than a few misgivings. It was of a soft, blackish fabric, and the air tank was a bulging sausage that protruded from the back. It was designed to accommodate the eight-foot stature of an Alice or a Gwendolyn.
“I see what you mean,” Darzek said. “But I’ll manage. I’ll have to. Is this tank full of air?”
“It is kept ready for emergencies,” Ysaye said.
“If there’ll ever be an emergency, this is it. Where’s the exit?”
Ysaye turned to the compartment again, rippled open a door at the back, and revealed a long tunnel that slanted down to a dead end. It was brightly lit with the same glowing material that lit the capsule.
“Right,” Darzek said. “Come along, will you, and help me get this suit on. The rest of you can watch, and if you know any prayers you might even pray a little. I’ll be back soon—I hope.”
T
he others had neither moved nor spoken, but when Darzek stepped towards the tunnel Zachary leaped to block the way and Xerxes snatched his gleaming weapon from his clothing. Darzek sprang aside, and as the weapon’s full impact struck Zachary he brought the edge of his hand down on Xerxes’s arm with vicious force. The arm seemed to snap, and flapped uselessly. The weapon clattered on the floor. Zachary sprawled motionless in the entrance of the tunnel, and Xerxes stood calmly contemplating his helpless arm.
“You’re quite the triggerman, aren’t you?” Darzek said to Xerxes. “But your draw is a bit rusty. You need practice. When business is less pressing, I’ll give you lessons.”
He nodded at Ysaye, who pulled Zachary aside. The two of them stepped into the tunnel. “Look after Zachary,” Darzek said, and rippled the door shut behind them. They walked quickly down the slope together.
The tunnel leveled off towards the end. “Is this the inner door to an air lock?” Darzek asked.
“Yes. Yes, you would call it that.”
“Just so that’s what it is. The outside door must look just like the face of the rock. How do I get it open when I come back? Or even find it?”
“Come back?” Ysaye repeated. “You are coming back?”
“Of course.”
“I understand. You will bring your people here.”
“Certainly not! Didn’t you hear what I said about a plan?”
“I did not think you meant it,” Ysaye said simply.
Darzek regarded him with amazement. “Then—why are you helping me?”
“Because I do not want you to die.”
Their eyes met, and Darzek reached out and took the young alien’s cold, dry hand. He had never felt such compassion for a living creature. Ysaye’s utter isolation, his unplumbed depths of loneliness, were such that in the end he was ready to violate the Code in recompense for those few meager gestures of friendship that Darzek had extended to him. What that decision was costing him Darzek could never know.
“I think,” Darzek said slowly, “that a friend of yours enjoys a much greater friendship than he realizes.”
[Jan Darzek 01] - All the Colors of Darkness Page 16
