Tongues of the Moon

"He'd have to be a raving maniac to do that!" said Broward.

"He's a maniac all right, but he knows what he's doing and how to do it," said Scone. "The thing is, he hasn't finished his job. He must know by now that his forces failed on the Moon, and he'll want to make sure of the Soviet bases on Ganymede and Mercury, too. So, we can expect some action in the near future. The hell of it is, if that fleet is as big as the scout reported, Howards has the muscle to beat us. He could lose half his fleet and still have twice as many ships and missiles as we can muster. Plus the fact that his forces are unified. They don't have to guard against each other while they're fighting the enemy."

"You didn't call me in here just to tell me this."

"Of course not. Bob, I have something special I want you to do."

Broward knew then that Scone was pla

"The point is this," said Scone. "We are badly outnumbered and outweaponed. The Martians have every advantage over us, aside, of course, from operating on the basis of an incorrect ideology. But I have never noticed that being ideologically perverted kept any nation from being excellent fighters. I can say this in the privacy of my office; I know that you would not think of repeating it."

"You said that the point is... ?"

"If the Martians bring their full weight against us, and I see no reason why they won't, we'll be wiped out. So, we can strip the bases of all that the ships can carry and find a hiding place, a new colony. We might even all board the Zemlya and take off for the stars, leaving the Axis in full possession of the solar system.

"I don't like to do that; in fact, I won't.

Two, we can beat the Martians to the punch. But there is only one way to do that. Somebody must go to Earth and get the means to enable us to smash the Martians. More than that. Smash Mars!"

"I don't understand," said Broward. "Planetbuster," said Scone. "Did you ever hear of it?" -No."

"It is—was—top secret, but that, of course doesn't mean that word somehow wouldn't get around. The Russians were building it. It was, if my intelligence is right, a device 100% efficient in converting matter into energy. And it was supposed to have an amplification factor in it. You might say it was 500% efficient. Yes, I know, that's impossible. But, effectively that was what it was supposed to do. Don't ask me the principle behind it

"This—call it a bomb—was not intended to be used as a weapon on Earth. It would have destroyed the Russians also, even if set off at the South Pole. But the Russians wanted to build and test one. They had pla

Broward felt frozen. He said, "You can't be thinking of sending some one down there... ?"

"Why not?" replied Scone. "I'd go myself, but it's obvious that I must stay here. I know where the bomb is located. And we have a small experimental vessel that's shielded heavily enough to withstand twenty times the radiation you'll find down there. Moreover, I've already given orders to have special suits equipped for any work you have to do outside the ship. Believe me, it can be done. I've talked to those who know, and they've told me it can be done."

"But, even if it's found, how do you know it'll be operative? Who knows how to control it?"

Broward became aware that he was breathing hard and that his fists were clenched.

"Why me?" he said, "I'm a physical anthropologist and a doctor! What do I know about getting a ship down there, or handling a device of that nature?"

"You're a doctor, and you've had a great deal of training in radiation. You won't be piloting the ship; another man will do that. As for the bomb, it's a comparatively small package, and perfectly safe. Besides, I picked you for another reason I haven't mentioned yet."

"What's that?" said Broward. He caught himself in time, bit down on the words. A little more anger, and he would have accused Scone of sending him in order to have a free hand with Ingrid.

"Didn't you spend a year in East Siberia on an anthropological study of the descendants of the colonists?"

"Yes," said Broward. "What of it?"

"The bomb is located in an underwater installation off the coast of East Siberia."

Broward sighed. Trust the man to have checked through the biographical files to find data he could use. Scone had him. He was, in many ways, a logical choice.

"Am I being ordered to go? Or being asked to volunteer?" he said.

"The survival of all men on the Moon demands that someone get that bomb. You should be proud because I think enough of your qualifications to order you to go."

Broward knew better than to ask him what would happen if he refused. For a moment, he wondered if Scone wanted him to rebel. That would give Scone an easy and legal way to get rid of Broward. Now, there was a chance Broward could return from the mission. How much chance, Broward would not know until he evaluated the situation. "Who's going with me?" he said.

"Captain Yamanuchi will be your pilot and navigator."

"You think of everything," Broward said. Fleetingly, Scone looked surprised. But if he guessed what Broward meant, he did not care to pursue it.

"It'll be some time before the ship is ready," Scone said. "Report to Dr. Wellers in Section T. I'll see you before you leave."

"Yes, sir," Broward answered. He saluted, spun around, and walked stiffly out of the office. His only thought was to talk to Ingrid before he left. He did not care what obstacles Scone would put in his way to prevent that.

Wellers and Yamanuchi were waiting for him. Wellers was a tall thin Englishman with large brown eyes and sunken cheeks. He had two Ph.D.'s, one in selenic physics, one in spatial navigation. Generally, he was regarded as a nut His outspoke

The other man was Moshe Yamanuchi. He was stocky, about thirty, had light-brown curly hair and deep purple-blue eyes with long eyelashes. Aside from his name, he had nothing about him to indicate his Japanese ancestry. In his own way, he was even more of a curiosity than Wellers. His grandfather, one of the many Japanese converted to Judaism some time after World War II, had emigrated to Israel. He had married a Sabra of Danish-Polish-Scotch descent. The second son of this union had taken to wife a woman of Dutch-Czech-Algerian ancestry. Moshe, their last child, was born in northern Alaska; his parents had been among the victims of the Third Diaspora, moved by the Soviets in their effort to demolish forever the Israeli state and Judaism.

Moshe Yamanuchi was the only "Jew" on the Moon. It was said that Moshe had been assigned there by mistake. He was not listed as having a religion and he had applied for membership to the Communist Party. The officials who had sent him to the Moon had been misled by his surname, and so on. When it finally became known, and Scone was notified that a man of Jewish "blood" was under his command, nothing was done about it. Yamanuchi was a likeable and valuable man, and people found it difficult to believe that he could actually be a Jew. He didn't fit the picture.