Journey Into Space by Charles Chilton Page A

attention to the fact via the radio.
    “Don’t worry, Doc,” the voice came back. “There are plenty of foot and hand holds. Rock this side is streaked with red and yellow veins. Fellows up on Earth’d be glad to see a sample. Besides . . .” He got no further. The edge of the rim on which he was standing gave way beneath him. He toppled backwards, headlong into the crater.
    He fell in slow motion. There was a good six feet between Mitch and the sloping crater wall directly below him. Enclosed in his pressurised suit, he bounced slowly, like a balloon. Three feet further down he bounced again and started rolling towards the shaft.
    I was so scared for him I couldn’t speak. Lemmy, sitting cross-legged on his bunk, was unaware of the crisis. He was singing to himself, a parody of his own, ‘By the light of the silvery Earth’, but was having trouble getting his lines to rhyme. Jet didn’t move, or speak, but watched Mitch roll slowly towards the shaft as though fascinated by the spectacle.
    By some miracle, Mitch came to rest within three feet of the ‘plughole’, and there he lay; spreadeagled, motionless. I thought, at first, that he must be hurt, for he just lay still. Then it occurred to me that he might have punctured his suit and his air was escaping. If it was, there was little hope for him; if his suit collapsed his lungs would explode, long before we could get him out of the crater and into the safety of the ship’s airlock.
    “Keep calm, Mitch, and don’t move.” Jet was talking to him. “If you can hear me and can reply, do so, but don’t move.”
    A grunt was all the reply we got.
    Jet was standing up now and removing his safety line from its fastener on his suit. “If you can understand what I’m saying,” said Jet’s voice softly, “grunt again.” Mitch grunted. Jet told the Australian what he was about to do, and then threw the end of his safety line towards Mitch. It landed near his outstretched arm. He picked it up with difficulty in his gloved hand. Then, very gingerly, he rose to his feet and, with Jet pulling firmly, Mitch walked up the sloping walls of the crater.
    Ten minutes later he was back in the ship. After detailed examination, his suit and radio proved to be undamaged and Mitch himself had sustained no physical hurt. But it was a near thing and, although we didn’t realise it then, only the first of the shocks we were to receive in connection with the ‘washbowl’.
    The time drew near for returning to Earth. As the lunar day drew to a close and the heat subsided, we were able to stay outside for longer periods. Then, towards evening, we noticed that the terminator had already darkened Cape Laplace and would soon be making its way across the Bay. We were to leave before darkness descended on the landing area so, while Mitch and Jet made their final survey, Lemmy and I got the ship ready for take-off.
    Six hours later, all specimens had been safely stowed. Motor, radio, radar and the rest of the gear checked, we climbed on to our couches while Jet told Control we were about to leave, and would not be calling them again until we were coasting towards Earth. Then he, too, climbed into his bunk and we were all set.
    Lemmy switched on the televiewer camera in the nose, rotated it and gave us one last look at the Bay. The west side was in darkness but Cape Heraclides, still lit by the slowly setting sun, was bright enough, although deep shadows were already appearing to mark the places where the sun failed to reach the precipitous mountain walls.
    Then we saw the flag. We had hoisted it the day we arrived. The mast, a light-weight, telescopic affair, had been thrust into the soft, dusty soil of a small mound and held in place by superfine guy ropes that were invisible on the screen. The flag hung limp against the pole. Since we had hoisted it, it had never once moved. It was the last thing we saw before the televiewer was switched over to stern view for the take-off. Soon we