When the ship moved into the environs of Luna, the weary five knew that Earth could not be far off. Ninety-nine per cent of their journey was already over.
Rock studied the enlarging globe of Earth’s satellite. Its wrinkled, gray face shone dazzlingly bright under the full glare of the sun. The filtering glass was lowered over the forward port to cut down the brilliance.
It was on the space day following that there occurred an incident that filled the boys with exuberant hope. They were almost at their closest approach to Luna. The gray desolate lands were right “below.”
A crackling was heard over the automatically set radio.
“Somebody must have picked up our signal and is trying to make contact!” Shep cried out.
Rock moved to the console to begin cutting speed. Then all gathered around the radio.
Hugh was the radio expert. He scooped up the mike and slid into the chair in front of the bank of knobs.
“SS Northern Cross,” he said eagerly. “SS Northern Cross. Come in, whoever you are! Please come in!”
The crackling continued. Then there was a fragment of voice that was quickly lost in a babble of sound.
Hugh kept talking into the mike.