"I think so. One of 'em, anyway. Take a look."
De Hooch went over to the periscope and put his eyes to the binoculars. He could see two figures in heavy, dull-gray radiation-proof suits. They were lying flat on the floor, and neither was moving. De Hooch said as much.
"The one on the left was moving his arm—just a little," Willows said. "I'll swear he was."
Something in the man's voice made de Hooch turn his head away from the periscope's eyepieces. Willows' face was gray, and a thin film of greasy perspiration reflected the light from the overhead plates. The man was on the verge of panic.
"Calm down, Puss," de Hooch said gently. "Where's Quillan and Laynard?"
"They're in their rooms," Willows said in a tight voice. "Trapped. The bulkheads have closed 'em off in A. No air in the corridor. We'll have to dig 'em out. I called 'em both on the phone. They're all right, but they're trapped."
"Did you call Base?"
"Yes. They haven't got a ship. They sent three moon-cats, though. They ought to be here by morning."
De Hooch looked up at the chronometer on the wall. Oh one twelve, Greenwich time. "Morning" meant any time between eight and noon; the position of the sun up on the surface had nothing to do with Lunar time. As a matter of fact, there was a full Earth shining at the moment, which meant that it wouldn't be dawn on the surface for a week yet.
"If the cats from Base get here by noon, we'll be O.K., won't we?" de Hooch asked.