"They blitzed us," Cargraves said savagely. "They bombed us out. If we had been aboard they would have killed us. That's what they meant to do."
"But why?"
"No possible reason. They didn't want us here." He refrained from saying what he felt to be true: that their unknown enemy had failed only temporarily in his intent to kill. A quick death by high explosive would probably be a blessing compared with what he felt was in store for them marooned... on a dead and airless planet.
How long would they last? A month? Two months? Better by far if the bomb had hit them.
Morrie turned suddenly back toward the lock. "What are you doing, Morrie?"
"Going to get the guns!"
"Guns are no good to us."
But Morrie had not heard him. His antenna was already shielded by the metal drum.
Ross said, "I'm not sure that guns are no good, Doc."
"Huh? How do you figure?"
"Well, what are they going to do next? Won't they want to see what they've done? They didn't even see the bomb hit; they were jetting away."
"If they land we'll hijack their ship!"
Art came up closer. "Huh? Hey, Ross, that's tellin' ‘em! We'll get them! We'll show them! Murderers!" His words tumbled over one another, squeaking and squawking in their radios.
"We'll try!" Cargraves decided suddenly. "We'll try. If they land we won't go down without a fight. We can't be any worse off than we are." He was suddenly unworried; the prospect of a gun fight, something new to his experience, did not upset him further. It cheered him. "Where do you think we ought to hide, Ross? In the Galileo?"
"If we have to—There they come!" The rocket had suddenly appeared over the far rim.
"Where's Morrie?"
"Here." He came up from behind them, burdened with the two rifles and the revolver. "Here, Ross, you take... hey!" He had caught sight of the strangers' rocket. "We've got to hurry," he said.
But the rocket did not land. It came down low, dipping below the level of the crater's rim, then scooted on its tail across near the wreckage of the Galileo, up, out, and away.
"And we didn't even get a crack at them," Morrie said bitterly.
"Not yet," Ross answered, "but I think they'll be back. This was a second bombing run, sure as anything, in case they missed the first time. They'll still come back to see what they've done. How about it, Doc?"
"I think they will," Cargraves decided. "They will want to look over our ship and to kill us off if they missed any of us. But we don't go to the Galileo."
"Why not?"
"We haven't time. They will probably turn as fast as they can check themselves, come back and land. We might be caught out in the open."
"That's a chance we'll have to take."
It was decided for them. The rocket appeared again from the direction it had gone. This time it was plainly a landing trajectory. "Come on!" shouted Cargraves, and went careening madly down the slope.
The rocket landed about halfway between the Galileo and the shadows, now close to the foot of the hills, for the sun had climbed four ‘days' higher in the sky. The ship was noticeably smaller than the Galileo even at that distance.
Cargraves did not notice such details. His immediate intent was to reach the door of the craft before it opened, to be ready to grapple with them as they came out.
But his good sense came to his aid before he was out in the sunlight. He realized he had no gun. Morrie had kept one, Ross had the other, and Art was waving the revolver around. He paused just short of the dazzling, sunlighted area. "Hold it," he ordered. "I don't think they have seen us. I don't think they will—yet."
"What are your plans?" Morrie demanded.
"Wait for them to get out, then rush the ship—after they get well away from it. Wait for my signal."
"Can't they hear us?"
"Maybe. If they are on this frequency, we're goners. Switch off your talkies, everybody." He did so himself; the sudden silence was chilling.
The rocket was almost tail towards them. He now saw three suit-clad figures pile out from a door that swung out from the side. The first looked around briefly, but he appeared not to see them. Since it was almost certain that he was wearing sun goggles, it was doubtful if he could see much inside the shadows.
He motioned to the other two and moved toward the Galileo, using a long, loping gallop that the Galileo's crew had learned was the proper way to walk on the moon. That alone was enough to tell Cargraves that these men, their enemies, were not grounding on the moon for the first time.
Cargraves let them get all the way to the Galileo, and, in fact, to disappear behind it, before he got up from where he had been crouching. "Come on!" he yelled into a dead microphone, and slammed ahead in great leaps that took him fifty feet at a stride.
The outer door of the lock stood open. He swarmed into it and closed it after him. It clamped by means of a wheel mounted in its center; the operation was obvious. That done he looked around. The tiny lock was dimly illuminated by a pane of glass set in the inner door. In this feeble light he looked and felt for what he needed next—the spill valve for air.
He found it and heard the air hissing into the compartment. He leaned his weight against the inner door and waited.
Suddenly it gave way; he was in the rocket and blinking his eyes.
There was a man still seated in the pilot's chair. He turned his head, and appeared to say something. Cargraves could not hear it through his helmet and was not interested. Taking all advantage of the low gravity he dived at the man and grappled him about the head and shoulders.
The man was too surprised to put up much of a fight—not that it would have mattered; Cargraves felt ready to fight anything up to and including tigers.
He found himself banging the man's head against the soft padding of the acceleration chair. That, he realized, was no good. He drew back a gauntleted fist and buried it in the pit of the man's stomach.
The man grunted and seemed to lose interest. Cargraves threw a short jab straight to the unguarded chin. No further treatment was needed. Cargraves pushed him down to the floor, noticing without interest that the belt of his victim carried a holster with what appeared to be a heavy-caliber Mauser, and then stood on him. He looked out the conning port.
There was a figure collapsed on the ground near the broken bow of the Galileo, whether friend or foe it was impossible to say. But another was standing over him and concerning him there was no doubt. It was not alone the unfamiliar cut of his space suit, it was the pistol in his hand. He was firing in the direction of the rocket in which Cargraves stood.
He saw the blaze of a shot, but no answering report. Another shot followed it—and this one almost deafened him; it struck the ship containing him, making it ring like a giant bell.
He was in a dilemma. He wanted very urgently to join the fight; the weapon on the person of his disabled opponent offered a way. Yet he could not leave his prisoner inside the ship while he went out, nor did he, even in the heat of fighting, have any stomach for killing an unconscious man.
He had already decided, in the space of a breath, to slug his man heavily and get outside, when the fast drama beyond the port left him no time. The space-suited stranger at the bow of the Galileo was suddenly without a helmet. Around his neck was only a jagged collar.
He dropped his pistol and clutched at his face. He stood there for a moment, as if puzzled by his predicament, took two hesitant steps forward, and sank gently to the ground.
He thrashed around a bit but did not get up. He was still convulsing when a third man appeared around the end of the ship. He did not last long. He appeared confused, unable to comprehend the turn of events, which was quite likely, in view of the ghostly stillness of the gun fight. It was entirely possible that he never knew what hit him, nor why. He was still reaching for his iron when he was struck twice, first in the chest and the second shot lower down.