One Against the Moon

by Donald A. Wollheim

"I imagine," said Robin, "that both the Americans and Russians must be working on Moon rockets now. If we can signal back there, the next rocket along might come to this crater and find us."

"Good," said the Russian rocketeer. "Only how do we get to the surface? I have a space suit, which is probably in Von Borck's cave. Von Borck must have a suit too, if we can find it, though I think it will be much too big for you."

Robin explained about his homemade space suit. Piotr was quite impressed. The suit which was packed in Robin's big sack was in the prison cave where it had been thrown and they unpacked it. Piotr examined the helmet with interest. "Very good. It might work. It seems airtight."

"I tested it under water," said Robin. "It didn't leak any bubbles."

The Russian nodded. "But I don't believe your big bag of air would work. How would you blow it up in the first place? I think you would have had a hard time anyway. But fortunately there are three oxygen tanks on my own suit. I can detach one for your use."

He nodded, looking over the homemade helmet. In the half light of the cave Robin looked at his new friend with interest. There was something about his face which struck an odd chord in Robin's mind. Something about him brought back faint, almost forgotten memories, dim frightening memories of bombs exploding, of falling buildings, of a frightened child, and great loss.

Robin suddenly asked, "How did you learn to speak English so well?"

Piotr looked up. "I was wondering when you would ask that. I always knew English, I spoke it as a little child. When I was found by the soldiers in Dresden, I was but a little boy, maybe six or seven. I spoke some German, but mostly I spoke English. They could find no sign of my parents, my family, so they took me back to Russia with them. I studied English too in school, but I always knew it."

Robin started, his heart pounding very strangely. "Where did you get your name? That's Russian."

The other stared at him hard. "No, it's not. My name—Piotr Ivanovitch Kareff—means Peter the son of John Kareff."