broadcast. "--thebombed area did not extend west of the Appalachians. Washington DC wasbadly hit, as were New York and Philadelphia, and further raids areexpected to originate from Siberia, coming across the great circle tothe West coast or the Middle west. So far the Enemy appears to havelived up to its agreement in the Ingersoll pact to outlaw use of atomicbombs, for no atomic weapons have been used so far, but the damage withblock-busters has been heavy. All citizens are urged to maintainstrictest blackout regulations, and to report as called upon in localwork and civil defense pools as they are set up. The attack began--"
Shandor sighed, checked his instrument readings. Far in the East thehorizon was beginning to lighten, a healthy, white-grey light. Hiscalculations placed him over Eastern Nebraska, and a few moments laterhe nosed down cautiously and verified his location. Lincoln Airbase wasin a flurry of activity; the field was alive with men, like little blackants, preparing the reserve fighters and pursuits for use in a fever ofurgent speed. Suddenly the 'copter radio bleeped, and Tom threw theswitch. "Over."
An angry voice snarled, "You up there, whoever you are, where'd youleave your brains? No civilian craft are allowed in the air, and that'sorders straight from Washington. Don't you know there's a war on? Nowget down here, before you're shot down--"
Shandor thought quickly. "This is a Federal Security ship," he snapped."I'm just on a reconnaissance--"
The voice was cautious. "Security? What's your corroboration number?"
Shandor cursed. "JF223R-864. Name is Jerry Chandler. Give it a check ifyou want to." He flipped the switch, and accelerated for the ridge ofhills that marked the Colorado border as the radio signal continued tobleep angrily, and a trio of pursuit planes on the ground began warmingup. Shandor sighed, hoping they would check before they sent ships afterhim. It might at least delay them until he reached his destination.
Another hour carried him to the heart of the Rockies, and across thegreat salt fields of Utah. His fuel tanks were low, being emptied one byone as the tiny ship sped through the bright morning sky, and Tom wasgrowing uneasy, until suddenly, far to the west and slightly to thenorth he spotted the plant, nestling in the mountain foothills. It layfar below, sprawling like some sort of giant spider across the ruggedterrain. Several hundred cars spread out to the south of the plant, andhe could see others speeding in from the temporary village across theridge. Everything was quiet, orderly. He could see the shipments,crated, sitting in freight cars to the north. And then he saw the drillline running over to the right of the plant. He followed it, quicklychecking a topographical map in the cockpit, and his heart startedpounding. The railroad branch ran between two low peaks and curved outtoward the desert. Moving over it, he saw the curve, saw it as it cutoff to the left--and seemed to stop dead in the middle of the desertsand--
Shandor circled even lower, keeping one ear cocked on the radio, andsettled the ship on the railroad line. And just as he cut the motors, heheard the shrill whine of three pursuit ships screaming in from theEastern horizon--
He was out of the 'copter almost as soon as it had touched, throwing ajacket over his arm, and racing for the place where the drill lineended. Because he had seen as he slid in for a landing, just what he hadsuspected from the topographical map. The drill didn't end in the middleof a desert at all. It went right on into the mountainside.
The excavation was quite large, the entrance covered and camouflagedneatly to give the very impression that he had gotten from the air.Under the camouflage the space was crowded, stacked with crates, boxes,materials, stacked all along the walls of the tunnel. He followed therails in, lighting his way with a small pocket flashlight when thetunnel turned a corner, cutting off the daylight. Suddenly the tunnelwidened, opening out into a much wider room. He sensed, rather than saw,the immense size of the vault, smelt the odd, bitter odor in the air.With the flashlight he probed the darkness, spotting the high, vaultedceiling above him. And below him--
At first he couldn't see, probing the vast excavation before him, andthen, strangely, he saw but couldn't realize what he saw. He stared fora solid minute, uncomprehending, then, stifling a gasp, he _knew what hewas looking at_--
Lights. He had to have lights, to see clearly what he couldn't believe.Frantically, he spun the flashlight, seeking a light panel, and then,fascinated, he turned the little oval of light back to the pit. And thenhe heard the barest whisper of sound, the faintest intake of breath, andhe ducked, frozen, as a blow whistled past his ear. A second blow fromthe side caught him solidly in the blackness, grunting, flailing outinto a tangle of legs and arms, cursing, catching a foot in his face,striking up into soft, yielding flesh--
And his head suddenly exploded into a million dazzling lights as he sankunconscious to the ground--
* * * * *
It was a tiny room, completely without windows, the artificial lightfiltering through from ventilation slits near the top. Shandor sat up,shaking as the chill in the room became painfully evident. A smallelectric heater sat in the corner beaming valiantly, but the heat hardlyreached his numbed toes. He stood up, shaking himself, slapping his armsagainst his sides to drive off the coldness--and he heard a noisethrough the door as soon as he had made a sound.
Muted footsteps stopped outside the door, and a huge man stepped inside.He looked at Shandor carefully, then closed the door behind him, withoutlocking it. "I'm Baker," he rasped cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"
Shandor rubbed his head, suddenly and acutely aware of a very sore noseand a bruised rib cage. "Not so hot," he muttered. "How long have I beenout?"
"Long enough." The man pulled out a plug of tobacco, ripped off a chunkwith his teeth. "Chew?"
"I smoke." Shandor fished for cigarettes in an empty pocket.
"Not in here you don't," said Baker. He shrugged his huge shoulders andsettled affably down on a bench near the wall. "You feel like talking?"
Shandor eyed the unlocked door, and turned his eyes to the huge man."Sure," he said. "What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't want to talk about nothin'," the big man replied,indifferently. "Thought you might, though."
"Are you the one that roughed me up?"
"Yuh." Baker grinned. "Hope I didn't hurt you much. Boss said to keepyou in one piece, but we had to hurry up, and take care of those Armyguys you brought in on your tail. That was dumb. You almost upseteverything."
Memory flooded back, and Shandor's eyes widened. "Yes--they followed meall the way from Lincoln--what happened to them?"
Baker grinned and chomped his tobacco. "They're a long way away now.Don't worry about them."
Shandor eyed the door uneasily. The latch hadn't caught, and the doorhad swung open an inch or two. "Where am I?" he asked, inching towardthe door. "What--what are you planning to do to me?"
Baker watched him edging away. "You're safe," he said. "The boss'll talkto you pretty soon if you feel like it--" He squinted at Tom insurprise, pointing an indolent thumb toward the door. "You planning togo out or something?"
Tom stopped short, his face red. The big man shrugged. "Go ahead. Iain't going to stop you." He grinned. "Go as far as you can."
Without a word Shandor threw open the door, looked out into the concretecorridor. At the end was a large, bright room. Cautiously he starteddown, then suddenly let out a cry and broke into a run, his eyes wide--
He reached the room, a large room, with heavy plastic windows. He ran toone of the windows, pulse pounding, and stared, a cry choking in histhroat. The blackness of the crags contrasted dimly with the inkyblackness of the sky beyond. Mile upon mile of jagged, rocky crags,black rock, ageless, unaged rock. And it struck him with a jolt howeasily he had been able to run, how lightning-swift his movements. Hestared again, and then he saw what he had seen in the pit, standing highoutside the building on a rocky flat, standing bright and silvery, likea phantom finger pointing to the inky heavens, sleek, smooth, resting onpolished tailfins, like an other-worldly bird poised for flight--
A voice b
ehind him said, "You aren't really going anyplace, you know.Why run?" It was a soft voice, a kindly voice, cultured, not rough andbiting like Baker's voice. It came from directly behind Shandor, and hefelt his skin crawl. He had heard that voice before--many times before.Even in his dreams he had heard that voice. "You see, it's pretty coldout there. And there isn't any air. You're on the Moon, Mr. Shandor--"
He whirled, his face twisted and white. And he stared at the smallfigure standing at the door, a stoop-shouldered man, white hair slightlyuntidy, crow's-feet about his tired eyes. An old man, with eyes thatcarried a sparkle of youth and kindliness. The eyes of