desolation-goofy, anddragging him into this mess.
But from Brinker's infuriating grin, Copeland caught a hot spark ofhope, backed by reasoning.
* * * * *
Later, sweating in the penal mine-pits near Tycho Station, Brinker andCopeland still heard scraps of news.
Explorers moved back into the region where the comet had split the lunarcrust. The rising columns of steam and gas were perhaps unspectacularphenomena in themselves. But there they were, ready to fill a tremendousneed. The sleepy internal fires of the Moon were unlikely to be violent.Yet they would push vapors up to the surface here perhaps for centuries.
In balancing benefit against transient damage, was it necessary even tomention that deeper and richer mineral deposits had been laid bare foreasy mining by the blast effect of the comet's downfall? All freemen--good or bad, and of large or small holdings--were set to gain,Krell included. But better mines were a side-issue.
The prisoners soon heard how roofs of transparent, flexible plastic,brought in bundles like fabric, were being reared over that smashed-upregion, to trap escaping volcanic vapors. One tentlike structure. Thenanother and another.
Here was ample water from volcanic steam, and vast quantities ofcarbon-dioxide from which ordinary air-rejuvenators could releasebreathable oxygen. Men who had lived so long in the lunar silence andbarrenness, soon saw that these raw materials of life need not only beused locally, but could be piped anywhere.
"Folks have caught on, Cope," Brinker said. "They were a littledesolation-balmy, too--hence on our side all the time. Now they'll feelbetter about my Old Man. There'll be more than one city, I'llbet--clusters of big, plastic air-bubbles, self-sealing againstmeteor-punctures, warmed inside at night by volcanic heat. It won'thappen all at once, but it'll come. Seeds'll be planted, and housesbuilt. Parts of the Moon won't look the same."
Krell's death was part of the turning tide. He was found in TychoStation, head smashed by a boot-sole of metal; it was good that Brinkerwas in prison, because his name was printed into Krell's skull.
Who did it? Neither Brinker nor Copeland cared very much. Some wrongedstooge of Krell's, no doubt. Let the forces of law figure out thedetails.
* * * * *
Things got really good for Copeland and Brinker after popular demandforced their vindication. They were feted, honored, praised, rewarded.All Earth knew of them, and feminine colonists arriving as part of a newphase of the Moon's development, shined up to them as heroes.
It is not to be said that they didn't enjoy the advantages of fame.Brinker said more than once: "Forget your Frances, Cope. Problems areeasy, these days."
The time came when Copeland growled in answer: "Sure--too easy. Having alot of pals after the need is gone. No--I'm not criticizing. Most folksare swell. But I'd like to make friends and maybe find love a littlemore naturally. I thought I'd stay on the Moon; now I think I'll shoveoff for Mars. People are going there; whole towns are being built, Iunderstand. And there's plenty of room for a lunar tramp, with aprison-record, to get lost ..."
Copeland chuckled at the end. His vagabond blood was singing. He wasalso pitching a come-on at Brinker, for he'd seen him with some letterswhile they were prisoners. Copeland had glimpsed the name and address ofthe writer: Dorothy Wells, the big nurse that Brinker had known at TychoStation. She was in Marsport now.
"By gosh--I guess I'll go too, Cope!" Brinker rumbled.
Looking back, Brinker thought it sort of funny that they were pals. Helaughed.
* * * * *
Transcriber Notes:
This etext was produced by Science Fiction Stories 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
page 62 original: Many hours later, and may miles farther changed to: Many hours later, and many miles farther
page 69 no change: Embitted, there was no warmth in Copeland - retained Embitted
Comet's Burial Page 5
