CHAPTER 19
The earth was no longer a round full ball. It was a gibbous mass of milk-white light, humpbacked, a twisted giant in the sky whose reflected radiance swept the lunar night and dimmed even the brightest of the stars. Its beacon swept out through space, falling in Crater Arzachel with a soft creamy sheen, outlining the structures of the plain with its dim glow.
Larkwell and Nagel had finished the airlock. The rocket had been tested and, despite a few minute leaks they had failed to locate, the space cabin was sufficiently airtight to serve their purpose. But the rocket had still to be lowered into the rill. Larkwell favored waiting for the coming sun.
"It's only a few more days," he told Crag.
"We can't wait."
"We smashed this baby once by not waiting."
"Well have to risk it," Crag said firmly.
"Why? We're not that short of oxygen."
Crag debated. Sooner or later the others would have to be told about the new threat from the sides. That morning Gotch had given him ominous news. The computers indicated it was going to be close. Very close. He looked around. They were watching him, waiting for him to give answer to Larkwell's question.
He said softly: "Okay, I'll tell you why. There's a rocket homing in with the name Arzachel on its nose."