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Looking down, he saw Sende standing quietly, watching him without expression.
Dick set out toward Baxter Mesa, skimming low over the lava ocean, now hot and
dusty in the sunlight. He slipped into a little crater, inspected the raft: no
radio tattletale. The sky behind seemed clear of pursuit. He rose once more
into the air, flew out toward the Security Station, dodging among the jagged
spires of a great mountain chain to confuse anyone who might be following.
At last, confident that he came unfollowed, he alighted in a black little
valley, a hundred yards from Crazy Sam s hut. He watched a few moments; there
was no light, no motion. The scene was as dead as only a moonscape can be.
The Security Station was invisible behind a razor-backed ridge. Dick was
certain that his approach had not been observed; nevertheless, he did not
relax his caution. Keeping to the black shadows, he slipped across the rock to
Sam s hut. He glanced in: peaceful, empty.
He drew the chart out of his pouch and examined it.
Opening No. 1 near the hut. Two minutes later he found it, a fissure leading
into the hill fifty feet distant.
Dick took a last look around the sky, switched on his searchlight, entered the
fissure. The route he had traced for himself ran in a more or less direct line
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toward the Station. If Sam s chart were accurate, finding his way should be
simple; it was merely a matter of continuing straight along the main tunnel,
avoiding the two passages which opened to the right, the three to the left.
The passage showed the faintest possible signs of use: a few sharp corners
chipped away, a gap broken in a dike which ran across the way.
The opening disappeared behind him; rock surrounded him entirely glistening
mica schist, glossy obsidian, dull basalt. Dick walked slowly, keeping a sharp
watch to either side. It suddenly occurred to him that he was invading the
region where, according to Sam, the lunar natives lived.
Dick s step faltered. In his preoccupation with the Basilisk he had completely
forgotten the creatures which Crazy Sam insisted still inhabited these caves.
Dick looked doubtfully around up, down, back, forward. Suppose these natives
really existed?
It was clear that, if they did exist, they wished to preserve the secret of
their existence. And it was nearly certain that if they caught him the would
deal harshly with him. But the question remained
did they exist? It seemed logically improbable from where would they derive
the energy necessary for life? How could they survive in the absolute cold, in
the dark airless passages? On the other hand, Dick knew that the more men
learned about space and the outer regions, the fewer things it became safe to
speak of as impossible. Suppose that traces of the ancient lunar atmosphere
still lurked in these caves? Suppose radioactive minerals supplied warmth?
Dick shrugged, stepped forward. If the natives were real, he must be wary of
them as well as of the pirates. Certainly this particularly passage was dead,
airless, cold. If they required air and warmth, he would not find them here.
He came to a halt, snapped off his light, peered ahead for a possible glimmer
of light. But, before his eyes adjusted to the darkness, nerves got the better
of him; shakily, he reached up, switched the light back on. Standing alone in
the blackness, where strange unhuman creatures might or might not exist, was
by no means a relaxing exercise.
Sweating now, darting glances to right and left, Dick continued along the
tunnel. He passed the first opening Sam had indicated on his map; so far, so
good. A hundred feet farther he came to the second. Correct and in accord with
the map.
He went on slowly, his dome light creating a small living cell of light in the
dead lunar artery. At the third side opening he mustered up his courage,
switched off the light, and forced himself to stand perfectly quiet while he
counted to a hundred.
His eyes still saw only blackness so deep and heavy that it possessed its own
mass and density.
He switched on the light; the radiance pressed back the clotted dark.
Dick went forward. Rock, shadow, light. Darkness before, darkness behind.
Twice he passed side openings, twice he extinguished his light and waited in
the darkness. Under his feet he felt
softness; looking down, he saw a spongelike bed of pumice. Down the center of
the passage it was crushed and broken; and here Dick looked closely here was
the clear imprint of a foot. It was a regulation space boot, rather small,
fitted with cleats; evidently Crazy Sam s track. Somewhat reassured, Dick
continued.
He passed the fifth side opening; now he must be close to the Station. He
turned off his light once again. Ahead the hint of a glimmer? Dick stared,
cautiously advanced through the dark. The light became stronger. Presently he
made out its source: a small square of glass set into the wall. He peered
through and found himself looking into a rather large room, cluttered with
broken crates and boxes. Aside from the debris the room held nothing of
interest; Dick however, felt a thrill of excitement. Light meant habitancy;
there was almost no doubt remaining that the old Station was being used for
illicit purposes, It occurred to Dick to wonder how the pirates had persuaded
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Sam to secrecy. Queer and crotchety as he had been, Sam had certainly been
honest. How had they sealed his mouth?
Dick turned on his dome light, continued down the passage. Sam s tracks in the
pumice became clearer and fewer. Evidently he had come this way only two or
three times.
The passage took a sudden turn, rose abruptly. Dick scrambled up the slope,
came to a frozen halt. There had been nothing to see but light and shadow,
darkness and rock; now all at once there was too much.
A broad band of glass extended across the wall. Through this glass poured a
flood of light. Dick glanced warily up at the window, then returned to that
which had caught his eyes at first: the footprints in the pumice. One set of
these were clearly Crazy Sam Baxter s; the second set, which entered out of
the darkness ahead, were very long and very narrow, with three peculiar
indentations where human toes would be. The shape was like an exclamation mark
with three dots below.
It was clear what had happened. Crazy Sam had been standing at the window,
perhaps sketching.
Something had come stalking out of the darkness; Sam had whirled in his
tracks. The two had stood face to face, for how long the prints gave no hint.
Then Sam had turned and gone his way, and likewise the thing with the golden
eyes.
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