“Go ahead with our same plan to notify the Guard, I guess,” Rock replied tonelessly. “They’ll probably send out some cruisers to look for the Dog Star.”
Rock stared solemnly out the port. “It’s my fault all this has happened. My fault that we ever started out on this crazy treasure hunt and my fault that the boys are in the hands of these space pirates!”
“Don’t blame yourself, Rock. The fellows knew very well what they were getting into. It’s not your fault that things haven’t worked out.”
Rock tried to shake off the pall of despair that had dogged him for the past few hours and got busily to work. “Well, no use just sitting here on Luna talking about it,” he murmured. “Let’s get that ankle of yours bandaged and then we’ll start up the engines.”
It was going to be a tricky undertaking to manage all the complicated controls between the two of them. Shep was further hindered by his ankle that had stiffened while he had slept. Rock had remembered seeing a first-aid kit and he went for it. He wrapped the ankle tightly so that Shep would be able to get about with a minimum of pain. They had to cut the sides of Shep’s magnetic-soled shoe so that there would be as little discomfort as possible. Shep could have done without magnetic shoes altogether, being content to float about weightlessly in the ship when they were beyond Luna’s gravity pull, but this would have interfered with running the ship, which required a certain amount of body leverage.
The two got their individual duties synchronized so that there would be no hitch, Rock taking the bulk of the work.
They calculated their figures and prepared the tape for the autopilot. Then they strapped down in the couch room for the take-off. Rock still did not trust the Northern Cross too far, and at this moment he was concerned lest the old ship might not respond to the lift of her jets. The next few moments would tell the story.
Rock felt the vibration of the ship as the fuel pumps went to work. The overhead prism showed the flow meter registering properly, but the big question was still whether the ship would be able to lift itself into the heights. Then a sudden movement seemed to cut Rock’s breath off in his throat. His body pressed deeply into his couch, aching, but Rock was glad. The ship was rising from the soil of Luna.
They pushed the Northern Cross along at the top speed they believed was reasonably safe. The ship creaked and groaned under the burden of maximum thrust. As yet she had given no indication of suffering worse than this, but it was clear that the space vessel had seen her best days.
When the Northern Cross was about two-thirds of the way home, a suspicious dot was seen on the radarscope, moving too slowly for a meteor.