A Story of the "Other Side" of the
Moon by a master of science-fiction
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Comet January 41.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Bill Bonwitt, the young chief engineer at the mercury mines that boredinto the surface of Earth's moon at the crater Tycho, knew somethingwas wrong. His hob-nailed boots beat a swift tattoo on the metal stepsas he quick-footed down to the radio room.
"Crane!" he yelled to the operator. "Have you felt it?"
His friend grinned up from the ethertype machine. There came aquivering of the floor, then a prolonged but diminishing vibration. "Ifelt it, sure. That was the transport, blasting away from Tycho, isall. What's wrong with you—jitters?"
"Nuts, Crane; it wasn't the ship. We're moving; the moon's on arampage. Earth's gone cockeyed overhead. I've seen it, felt it."
"Wha-a-at!" Crane's grin froze. He slanted his sorrel-topped head."Damned if I don't think you've got something there," he conceded aftera moment. "I feel it, too; sort of a swing and sway."
The operator attacked his keyboard. Tape chattered through thetransmitter wildly. "Asking New York to check with Mount Palomar," heexplained soberly. Val Crane's freckles emerged from their camouflageas his cheeks paled. The moon had gone haywire.
"Come up above," urged Bonwitt. "In the dome you can see—"
"Right," Crane approved, switching off his transmitter as the tapesnipped out, his message completed.
The beryllium steps resounded again as two pairs of heavy Lunar bootsclattered upward. Black velvet of the heavens loomed above the blackerbraces of the crystal dome breaking the scene into an intricatenetwork. Earth, a huge ball overhead, was swinging across space, whenit should have been stationary.
"Cripes!" swore Crane. "What the—"
Luna quaked mightily and Earth slowly swung back to normal with a snapthat jarred their insides almost loose.
Stunned, breathless, they ducked as the Atomic I blazed away fromthe base of Tycho's rim, her twin jets spouting trails of blazingmagnificence in a double arcing trail earthward. A dazzling sight underordinary circumstances, inconsequential now.
A furious chattering of the ethertype below sent them to the room ofthe radio with more echoing thumpings.
Crane grabbed the tape, reading aloud as it fluttered through histrembling fingers. "Mount Palomar reports Luna shifted three and onehalf degrees eastward from normal by unaccountable rotation on heraxis, returning suddenly to original position. More later from here.Keep us advised of any further developments there. Atomic, N.Y."
"Three and a half degrees!" gasped Bonwitt. "Sixty-six surface miles inas many seconds."
Sounds of distress wafted up from still further down in the workings. Ametallic crash. Shouts. Bonwitt started down toward the machine shop asCrane hunched once more over his ticker.
A new drill press, not yet bolted down, had toppled and pinned one ofthe mechanics to the floor. The man was unconscious; his fellow workerswere heaving sweatily to free him. Peterson, the new super of themines, looked on, bellowing, purpled. He leered at Bill Bonwitt.
"What the hell happened?" he demanded. "Where were you?"
Bonwitt flared up; he didn't like Peterson. "I'm off duty," he snapped."Besides, nothing could be done. All that happened is the moon shifteda little on its axis and came back."
"I'll say it shifted! A mile of Tycho's rim caved in just past ourworkings. And you in the dome!" A sneer twisted the super's thin lips