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He pressed the button that released them from stasis, rose, and went to the control panel. Powerful searchlights stabbed into the brown-grey mists. Below, the huge waves of the sea raced up and down. Then, they were near, lashing at the ship; then, the waves were gone, and the darkness of the sea, speared by the light beams, was around them. There were no fish to be startled by the frightening appearance of the strong lights.
Abruptly, one of the rays struck a projection, obviously not a natural formation. It reared 200 meters above the black ooze of the sea bottom. Moshe guided the vessel above the flat top of the tower, halted it above the exact center, and pressed another button.
"According to what Ziolsky told Scone, the port is set to activate only to a certain sonar code. Ziolsky was not sure the code would not be changed by now. But, if the code doesn't work, we can enter by another port, near the base, in our suits."
"It's working," said Moshe, pointing at the door sinking within the flat surface of the tower top. He lowered the ship past the entrance. The ponderous door stopped retreating directly in front of them and began to slide to one side within the i
The ship was stopped from further descent by a metal floor, but around them, piercing the walls, were four openings each large enough to admit a vessel twice the size of theirs. Moshe chose the one straight ahead of him; the forward beams showed them that the tu
"Here's where we get out," said Moshe. He lifted the ship from the water and deposited it on the other side of one of the dozen docking berths. All of these were occupied by a vessel. Broward checked the radiation meter and found what he had expected. A background normal for this level.
"Do you suppose that there could still be people living down here?" he said.
"Why not?" replied Moshe. "If what you told me was valid, there were quite a few perso
A few minutes later, they left the ship. They were clad in coveralls and carried only automatics as weapons and a small gravity-propelled blaster for drilling in case they encountered any doors that refused to open to normal means. Near the entrance to a tu
"I'd say everybody had left if it weren't for those ships in the dock," said Moshe. "So, where is everybody?"
"Mass suicide?" said Broward. "Not likely. There'd be a few that would live as long as they could draw a breath." Moshe shouted and stabbed his finger at a button and the little car stopped. Ahead of them, a plate of plastic had dropped down and completely blocked the tu
"Good thing we brought the driller," said Moshe. He started to climb out of the car but stopped when a voice blared at them.
"Drop your weapons on the floor. Go to the shield nearest you; face it; raise your hands in the air. Remain immobile until you are told otherwise!"
The voice, coming from a loudspeaker located somewhere in the wall, spoke in the East Siberian Russian dialect. The two men loosened their belts, dropped them, and then proceeded to obey directions. No sooner had they faced the plastic wall than it rose to reveal four men on the other side. These held guns pointed at the two.
"Boris Voget!" said Moshe. "Don't you remember me, Yamanuchi?"
Voget, a tall gangling man with a Lincolnesque face, smiled and said, "Surely, it can't be the Japanese Jew? Moshe Yamanuchi! But I thought that you..." "I was on the Moon," Moshe said.
"I was sent by the commander of the surviving Soviet forces on the moon," replied Moshe. "He..." and Moshe hesitated.
Broward guessed why he did not know what to say next. Should he tell them that his sole reason for being here was to obtain the planet-shaker, that he had thought that every living thing on Earth was dead? What if these people here did not care to place themselves under the disposition of Scone? The Siberians were famous for their desire for independence, their underground movements. The experiment conducted by the Russians in transporting enormous numbers from every place in the world to settle here had been successful in that the colonists had succeeded in making the area a fertile one. But they had brought with them an anti-Russian feeling that had not died out in their descendants.
Perhaps, thought Broward, if they knew that a North American now held the whiphand on the moon, the Siberians might be friendly. But what would they think when they discovered that their supposedly secret area was known? What would they do? Much of what would happen would depend on what Yamanuchi and Broward told them.
After being searched, the two Moonmen were conducted to a large car and made to sit in the back seats while two Siberians held guns on them. A third talked softly into a wrist-radio. A man got into the Voluto and followed them through the various tu
"They're in the same situation as we on the Moon," said Moshe to Broward. "Except that nobody knows this place is occupied by living men."
Broward could see at once what Scone would think when —and if—he found out about this place. It would offer a refuge from the danger of the Martian attack.
Near a tall tu
Voget, Moshe's acquaintance, had talked enough during the ride to give them a little information on the man behind the desk. He was Dr. Pyotr, the former head of the scientific operations, a physicist. His father had been a Sioux Indian, and his mother was a Saudi Arabian. The day after the war, Pyotr, in company with a band of his scientific workers and some military perso
Broward, looking at Pyotr, saw a man who reminded him of Scone. He had the same aura of strength and of confidence and gave the same impression of a man who would knock down and crush any one who got between him and his goal.