Lunar Station

A Story of the Other Side of the Moon by a master of science-fiction
Bill Bonwitt, the young chief engineer at the mercury mines that bored into the surface of Earth's moon at the crater Tycho, knew something was wrong. His hob-nailed boots beat a swift tattoo on the metal steps as he quick-footed down to the radio room.
Crane! he yelled to the operator. Have you felt it?
His friend grinned up from the ethertype machine. There came a quivering of the floor, then a prolonged but diminishing vibration. I felt it, sure. That was the transport, blasting away from Tycho, is all. What's wrong with you—jitters?
Nuts, Crane; it wasn't the ship. We're moving; the moon's on a rampage. Earth's gone cockeyed overhead. I've seen it, felt it.
Wha-a-at! Crane's grin froze. He slanted his sorrel-topped head. Damned if I don't think you've got something there, he conceded after a moment. I feel it, too; sort of a swing and sway.
The operator attacked his keyboard. Tape chattered through the transmitter wildly. Asking New York to check with Mount Palomar, he explained soberly. Val Crane's freckles emerged from their camouflage as his cheeks paled. The moon had gone haywire.
Come up above, urged Bonwitt. In the dome you can see—
Right, Crane approved, switching off his transmitter as the tape snipped out, his message completed.
The beryllium steps resounded again as two pairs of heavy Lunar boots clattered upward. Black velvet of the heavens loomed above the blacker braces of the crystal dome breaking the scene into an intricate network. Earth, a huge ball overhead, was swinging across space, when it should have been stationary.
Cripes! swore Crane. What the—
Luna quaked mightily and Earth slowly swung back to normal with a snap that jarred their insides almost loose.