Then the inner door swung back. Bonwitt juggled the magnetic remote control. They were inside. Through. And, in a moment, on the airless surface of Luna. Above, high over Tycho's vast wall, was the gleaming, torpedo-shaped hull of the super's ship. Bill went hot after it, more than ever puzzled as to what was going on.
The other side, Peterson had said. That would mean the opposite side of Luna—never seen from Earth.
Directly toward Luna's south pole and flying high, went Peterson's ship. Bonwitt drove after him. At this speed they'd soon pass the terminator and be in sunlight.
"No sense to any of it," Crane was saying. "Nothing much different on the other side than this side. What can they do around here?"
"So says me," agreed Bonwitt. "Anyway—a hope—we'll learn."
"There's the terminator ahead," chirped Crane. "Sun glasses!"
Dark lenses were quickly donned. Tall peaks ahead burst into blazing pinpoints, their blinding splendor deepening the shadows beyond the on-rushing terminator to Stygian inkiness. Dazzling white crawled down the nearing spires and suddenly the sun's corona smote them like a blow with its glory. Abruptly they were in vivid sunlight.
Peterson's ship still sped on before them. One hour; two; three.
Crane chuckled: "Hell to pay if N.Y. is trying to raise Gates."