Templin took his eyes off Olcott with difficulty. To the lieutenant he said non-committally, “I run the mine, yes. Name’s Templin. This is Jim Culver, works superintendent.”
The lieutenant relaxed a shade. “We’ve met,” he acknowledged, nodding to Culver. “I’m Lieutenant Carmer, and this is Commander Olcott.”
Templin said drily, “I’ve met Mr. Olcott. Twice—although somewhat informally.”
Olcott growled, “Never mind that; we’re here on business.”
“What sort of business?”
The lieutenant said hesitantly, “There has been a complaint made against you, Mr. Templin—a report of a violation of security regulations.”
“Violation? What violation?” Templin reached casually for another cigarette as he spoke, but his senses were alert. This was the man with whom he had had trouble twice before; it looked like a third dose was in the offing.
Cramer looked at Joe Olcott before he spoke. “Plutonium, Mr. Templin,” he said.
Culver coughed spasmodically. Templin said, “I see. Well, of course you can’t take any chances, Lieutenant. Absurd as it is, you’d better investigate the report.” To Culver he said: “Go up to the quarters and pick out two guides for them, Culver. They’ll want to see our whole layout here; maybe you’d better go along too.”
Culver nodded, his face full of trouble. “Okay, Temp,” he said dismally, and went out.
Templin picked up the ether-grammed orders and read them carefully, stalling for time. They said nothing but what he already knew; they were typical military orders authorizing a party of two officers to inspect the Terralune Projects mine at Hyginus Cleft. He put it down carefully.
He got up. “Excuse me for a while,” he said. “Culver will take care of you, and I’ve got a load of ore coming out to check. If you have any questions, I’ll see you before you leave.”
Olcott guffawed abruptly. “You bet you will,” he sniggered, but he caught Templin’s mild eyes and the laughter went out of him. “Go ahead,” he said. “We’ll see you, all right.”
Templin took his time about leaving. At the door he said, “There are cigarettes on the desk; help yourselves.” Then he closed the door gently behind him…and at once was galvanized into action. He raced to the metal climbing pole to the quarters on the upper level, swarmed up it at top speed and bounded down the galleyway, looking for Culver. He found Culver and two miners coming out of one of the rooms; he stopped them, took Culver aside.
“I need half an hour,” he said. “Can you keep them away from the pile that long? After that—I’ll be ready.”
Culver said hesitantly, “I guess so. But what’s the deal, Temp?”
“You’ll find out,” Templin promised. “Get going!”
TEMPLIN took three men and got them into pressure suits in a hurry. They didn’t even take time to pump air out of the pressure chamber; as soon as the inner door was sealed, Templin slammed down the emergency release and the outer door popped open. The four of them were almost blasted out of the lock by the sudden rush of air under normal pressure expanding into the vacuum outside. It was a waste of precious oxygen—but Templin was in a hurry.
The stars outside were incandescent pin-points in the ebony sky. Off to the west the tops of the mountains were blinding bright in the sun, but it was still night at the mine and the huge Earth hung in the sky overhead.
They leaped across the jagged rock, heading toward the abandoned shaft in which lay the plutonium pile Templin had stolen. As they passed the gleaming mirrors of the solar-energy collectors Templin glanced at them and swore to himself. Without the pile’s power to recharge their power-packs they were dependent on the feeble trickle of Earthshine for all their power—far less than the elaborate power-thirsty equipment of the mine needed. But there was no help for it. Perhaps, when Olcott and the security lieutenant had gone, they could revive the pile again and resume mining operations; until then, there would be no power, and mining operations would stop.
Hastily he set two of the men to digging up and rechanneling the leads to the power dome. Templin and the other man scuttled down into the yawning black shaft.
In the darting light of his helmet lamp he stared around, calculating the risks for the job in hand. The pile had to be concealed; the only way to conceal it was to blast the mouth of the tunnel shut. The pile itself was made of sturdy stuff; of course, with its ray-proof shielding and solid construction. But certainly operation of the pile would have to stop while Olcott and the lieutenant were in the vicinity, for the tiny portable Geiger counters they carried would surely detect the presence of a working atomic pile, no matter how thick and thorough the shielding.
And once a plutonium pile was stopped, it took hours to coax the nuclear reaction back to life. Any attempt to do it in a hurry would mean—atomic explosion.
Templin signaled to the workman, not daring to use his radio, and the two of them tackled the cadmium-metal dampers that protruded from the squat bulk of the pile. Thrust in as far as they would go, they soaked up the flow of neutrons; slowing down the atomic reaction until, like a forest fire cooled by cascading rain, the raging atomic fires flickered and went out. The reaction was stopped. The spinning gas-turbines of the heat-exchanger slowed and halted; the current generator stopped revolving. The atomic pile was dead.
On the surface, Templin knew, the current supply for the whole mining area was being shifted to the solar-energy reserves. The lights would flicker a little; then, as the automatic selector switches tapped the power packs, they would go back on—a little dimmer, no doubt.
Templin groaned regretfully and gestured to the other miner, who was throwing a heavy sheet-metal hook over the exposed moving parts of the generator. They hurried up and out to the surface.
Templin pulled a detonation-bomb from the cluster he had hung at his waist and, carefully gauging the distance, tossed it down the shaft. It struck a wall, rolled a dozen yards.
Then Templin flung himself away from the mouth of the shaft, dragging the other man with him. The bomb went off.
There was a flare of light and through the soles of their spacemen’s boots they felt the vibration, but there was no sound. Templin saw a flat area of rock bulge noiselessly upwaud, then collapse. The entrance was sealed.
Grim-faced, Templin turned to await the coming of the inspection party. He had done all that could be done.
A MINER, apparently one of the two who had been relocating the power leads, was standing nearby. Templin said curtly into the radio, “If you’re finished, get back to the quarters.” The man hesitated, then waved and moved slowly off.
Looking at the lights of the mine buildings, Templin could see that they were less bright now than before. Around the buildings small clusters of tinier lights were moving—the helmet lamps of pressure-suited men.
Looking close, Templin saw that three of the smaller lights were coming toward him—Culver, Olcott and the security lieutenant, he was sure. He gestured to his helper to keep out of sight and, in great swooping strides, he bounded toward the three lights.
As he got closer he could see them fairly clearly in the reddish light reflected from Earth overhead. They were the three he had expected, sure enough; they wore the clear, transparent helmets of surface Moon-dwellers, not the cloudy ray-opaque shields of the miners. He greeted them through his radio as casually as he could. “Find any plutonium?” he inquired amiably.
Even in the dim light he could see Olcott’s face contort in a snarl.
“You know damn well we didn’t,” said Olcott. “But I know it’s here; if I didn’t have to be in Hadley Dome in two hours I’d stay right here until I found it!”