Bruce touched helmets. “Look! We’re getting somewhere!”
Sam did not answer. Bruce persisted, “Sam, did you hear me?”
“I heard you. Thanks for pulling me out. Now untie me, will you?”
“Hold the light.” Bruce got busy. Shortly he was saying, “There you are. Now
I’ll stir around and find the way out.”
“What makes you think there is a way out?”
“Huh? Don’t talk like that. Who ever heard of a cave with no exit?”
Sam answered slowly, “He didn’t find one.”
“Look.” Sam shined the light past Bruce. On the rock a few feet away was a
figure in an old-fashioned space suit.
Bruce took the light and cautiously approached the figure. The man was
surely dead; his suit was limp. He lay at ease, hands folded across his middle, as
if taking a nap. Bruce pointed the torch at the glass face plate. The face inside
was lean and dark, skin clung to the bones; Bruce turned the light away.
He came back shortly to Sam. “He didn’t make out
so well,” Bruce said soberly. “I found these papers in his pouch. We’ll take them
with us ~so we can let his folks know.”
“You are an incurable optimist, aren’t you? Well, all right.” Sam took them.
There were two letters, an oldstyle flat photograph of a little girl and a dog, and
some other papers. One was a driver’s license for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts,
dated June 1995 and signed Abner Green.
Bruce stared. “1995! Gee Whiz!”
“I wouldn’t count on notifying his folks.”
Bruce changed the subject. “He had one thing we can use. This.” It was a
coil of manila rope. “I’ll hitch all the lines together, one end to your belt and
one to mine. That’!! give me five or six hundred feet. If you want me, just pull.”
“Okay. Watch your step.”
“I’ll be careful. You’ll be all right?”
“Sure. I’ve got him for company.”
“Well . . . . here goes.”
One direction seemed as good as another. Bruce kept the line taut to keep
from walking in a circle. The rock curved up presently and his flash showed that it
curved back on itself, a dead end. He followed the wall to the left, picking his
way, as the going was very rough. He found himself in a passage. It seemed to climb,
but it narrowed. Three hundred feet and more out by the ropes, it narrowed so much
that he was stopped.
Bruce switched off his light and waited for his eyes to adjust. He became
aware of a curious sensation. It was panic.
He forced himself not to turn on the light until he was certain that no
gleam lay ahead. Then thankfully he stumbled back into the main cavern.
Another series of chambers led steadily downward. He turned back at a black
and bottomless hole.
The details varied but the answers did not: At the furthest reach of the
lines, or at some impassable ob
stacle, he would wait in the dark-but no gleam of light ever showed. He went back to
Sam after having covered, he estimated, about 1800.
Sam had crawled up to the heap of fallen dust. Bruce hurried to him. “Sam,
are you all right?”
“Sure. I just moved to a feather bed. That rock is terribly cold. What did
you find?”
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“Well, nothing yet,” he admitted. He sat down in the flaky pile and leaned
toward Sam. “I’ll start again in a moment.”
“How’s your air supply?” asked Sam.
“Uh, I’ll have to crack my reserve bottle soon. How’s yours?”
“Mine is throttled to the limit. You’re doing all the work; I can save my
reserve bottle for you-I think.”
Bruce frowned. He wanted to protest, but the gesture wouldn’t make sense.
They would have to finish up all even; naturally he was using much more air than was
Sam.
One thing was sure-time was running out. Finally he said, “Look, Sam-there’s
no end of those caves and passages. I couldn’t search them all with all the air in
Luna City.”
“I was afraid so.”
“But we know there’s a way out right above us.”
“You mean in.”
“I mean out. See here-this morning glory thing is built like an hour glass;