Swooping down near the abandoned platforms, the two spacemen hurried to the edge of the crevasse and peered into the inky chasm. Due to the moon’s lack of atmosphere, no sound was carried to the pair trapped below.
“Tom! Bud!” Chow called over his suit radio. “Anyone down below?”
There was no response.
Bert clutched the cook’s arm and pointed. “Hey! Isn’t that a light?” A feeble glow was
142 SPACE SOLARTRON
barely discernible in the sun’s reflected dazzle from the rocky outcroppings higher up.
Even as he spoke, the light disappeared. Tom had decided at that very moment to switch off his suit beam to conserve battery power.
“Dunno whether I saw anything or not,” Chow replied, “but I reckon we’d better not pass up any chances. Tom and Bud must be down there, Bert, or else the two flyin’ donkeys wouldn’t be lyin’ around.”
Bert nodded. “Question is how do we get the boys out? I’d sure hate to try climbing down that straight-sided abyss.”
“If Tom and Bud did fall in there, they might’ve cracked their helmets,” Chow pointed out grimly.
Bert turned pale at the thought. “Good night! If their oxygen leaks out, they’re done for!”
Chow, terrified for the boys’ safety, was racking his brain for a means of rescue. “Bert, what we got to do is get Tom’s matter-makin’ machine and start pumpin’ air down there pronto!”
“That’s useless, Chow,” Bert objected. “The oxygen would just drift out through the top of the crevice!”
“Don’t stand there arguin’, man!” the old Texan retorted. “Mebbe Arv can figure out some way to do it!”