"Now the Russian observers have had a chance to see us," said Peter. "We ought to go back to the underground world again. Our supplies here are not enough. In order to eat and breathe the next few months, we will have to live among the Glassies. We have to go back to the great cleft again."
"Yes," said Robin. "And that brings up the question of Von Borck. He'll be waiting for us, you know."
His brother nodded. "Ah, but this time we will be the ones who are armed and ready." He reached down, took out a second gun belt, handed it to Robin. "Use this. Strap it around your space suit."
Robin looked at it, lifted the pistol in its holster. "It's an army automatic," said Peter. "A Tokarev .30, built much the same as an American Colt. Here, I'll show you how it works."
He cautioned about the lack of a safety catch, showed how to load the clip of bullets. "Be careful of it, though. It has a strong kickback on Earth—here on the Moon, it may be quite tricky to fire a gun."
They dressed again in their outfits, loaded on other supplies that might come in handy, including a light carbine, hunting knife and axe, and waterproof pack of matches. They slung the gun belts around their waists, tied the nylon cord to each other as an added precaution, and made a last check of the rocket cabin.
The little radio signal was still humming. Some day it would bring a rescue ship. Whether that would be a matter of months or a matter of years was the only question. Robin gulped a bit at the prospect of spending more years away from his own world. Sight of Earth, the taste of real food had made him quite homesick.
He thrust such thoughts away, snapped tight his helmet plate, and nodded to Peter. They climbed out of the rocket, sealing the air-lock door. They stood for a moment outside the wreck, taking their bearings.
They turned to head for the cliff wall, when something went ping off a metal fixture on Robin's helmet. He started, pulled back and something seemed to flick past his eyes and pop against the side of the rocket.
He yelled and ducked for cover. "Look out, Peter! Get down!"