The impression of a damp cloth moving gently over his face was Robin's first sensation on recovering his senses. He opened his eyes to find Peter leaning over him, carefully mopping away the soreness from his nose and face. Robin's eyes hurt and he blinked several times, each time feeling their rawness.

"Easy does it," said Peter, smiling. "Your eyes are very bloodshot, but fortunately there's no real damage. You couldn't have been exposed to the outside for more than a few seconds. Nosebleed's stopped, too."

Robin raised his head, feeling a little dizzy and weak at first. He was lying in a hammock slung across the narrow space of the rocket's tiny cabin. He took in the limited quarters slowly, while flexing his muscles to discover other points of sensitivity. His clothing had been removed, the tight bandaging unwrapped. He was wearing some sort of loose aviation coverall that his brother had dressed him in.

"Have I been out long?" Robin asked, rising to a sitting position.

"Maybe a half-hour," said his brother. "Mostly shock and overexertion, I guess. You've got some bruises on your shins and feet, but nothing that should stop you. Feel like some hot food? Real Earth food?"

Robin was suddenly hungry and the memories of a hundred forgotten foods flooded his senses. He nodded, and greedily attacked the full mess kit that his brother had been heating. It contained merely some sort of frankfurter, some canned potato, a chunk of black bread, and a cup of something that must have been condensed cabbage soup ... but to Robin it was the best banquet he'd had in many months. For the first time he ate meat that wasn't rabbit or a Moon creature, vegetable that wasn't Moontree fruit. His tongue reveled in the flavors. A glass of hot tea was the final sensation.

Refreshed, he looked around. The little cabin, occupying the entire nose of the rocket, must have been a tight squeeze indeed for a three-man crew. The controls and the pilot's seat occupied a good section of it. There was space for only two hammocks, which were obviously not to be spread out except when taking off or sleeping, and Peter was rolling up the one in which Robin had been resting. There was a built-in electric grid, a nozzle from which water was piped, a large number of observational and recording instruments, a couple of folding seats, nothing much else. Several thick glass bull's-eye windows were set in a circle around the nose, at a level with the pilot's eyes. Light came from one large electric bulb hanging in the nose of the ship. The whole cabin was tilted over at an angle, the result of the crash.

"I'm surprised that everything is in such good condition," said Robin. "I had expected to see a complete ruin."

"Well," said Peter, "I've got to admit that Von Borck was definitely a good pilot. The crash was probably not his fault. We were actually not supposed to land. Our orders were to try to circle the Moon in a narrow orbit, then return. We were to land only if Von Borck was sure he could do it and get away again.

"What happened though was that after we had crossed the dividing line in space where the Moon's pull equaled the Earth's pull, our gyroscopic controls jammed. Von Borck couldn't turn the rockets in our rear to the indicated direction. We struggled with the gyro for about forty minutes, even going outside to get at the airless tube section beneath this sealed cabin. When we finally got the controls operating, it was far too late to attempt to establish an orbit. Instead, Von Borck did the next best thing—he decided to attempt a direct landing. He reversed the rocket entirely, slowed us down and came down in an effort to land on his jets. It's a very difficult balancing trick, especially on an unknown landing field with uncertain distances.

"Actually he almost succeeded. He came down just a little too fast, smashed up our tubes, rammed the whole rear down into the pumice-and-dust surface, leaving our nose cabin sticking out unharmed. Von Borck slammed his head against the metal paneling. I took a spill, and Arkady who had volunteered to stand at the opposite observation port from the pilot in order to inform him of any dangers from that side was thrown across the room and killed."

Robin nodded slowly. "But why didn't you just stay here instead of going out?"

Peter went to a wall cabin, opened it. Inside there were about a half-dozen small containers and cans. "That's the whole stock of food we have left," was the reply. "We couldn't have stayed here too long. When I looked around outside I saw mist issuing from that spot in the cliff we came through. Obviously we'd die if we didn't find some place to stay. I went outside, buried Arkady, explored a little, realized that that rill out there was a sealed cleft which probably held air. So I loaded Von Borck, who had been unconscious for hours, and set out to go underground."

Robin got up, walked around. He was already in better shape. He looked at the panels, found them complex and with the markings in Russian. "What's the source of the electricity?" he asked.

"There's an atomic pile somewhere in the rear of the rocket," Peter replied. "That's something you don't smash easily. It's still operating."

"Can we send a message back to Earth then?" asked Robin. "If we've the power, and this ship must have a radio...."

"We tried that, but the radio was smashed in the landing. However, there is an emergency wave sender which was designed for just such a thing. I don't know if that's working. Let's see."

Peter opened a door set in the floor of the rocket which opened on an area jammed with equipment, wiring, and extra supplies. He reached around, extracted a small black box. He held it up, shook it gently. Handing it to Robin, he took out a roll of wire, and seating himself at the pilot's seat began to connect the box to the rocket. When it was plugged in to the electric system of the cabin, Peter flicked a switch and turned a knob. A thin humming came from the box.

"It works," he said. "This gives off a steady signal wave going on the general air-travel band. The radio buzz can be heard from Earth if it's being sought. By following it, astronomers can trace exactly where this rocket is. All we have to do is leave this on—it will run for years on our atomic power source. Eventually, rockets will locate us."

"But surely there must be some way of calling their attention even sooner?" said Robin. "Do you have flares?"

"You're right," Peter said excitedly. "We've got them. And it is night outside. If we use our flares, they could be seen on any decent-sized telescope. Shall we set them off?"

Robin nodded. "No time like now."

Peter reached again into the floor storages, opening another section, and began to pull out another space suit. "This was Arkady's," he said. "It should fit you."

It did. This time, Robin felt none of the uneasiness that had assailed him on his previous experience on the outside. In a few minutes, he and Peter were standing a short distance away from the rocket and setting out the flares.

Although the suit was cumbersome, it was not too uncomfortable. Instead of tight bandaging, the fabric of the suit consisted of some sort of self-inflating air sacs, which maintained an equal and natural pressure on the surface of Robin's body. The helmet, which was really airtight and warmed, was entirely comfortable, although again the breathing was a matter of a forced intake and a willful exhalation.

They set up the flares, which were magnesium-burning giant candles, a safe distance from the rocket, wired them to a detonator powered from the ship. Then, before going back, Robin and Peter simply stood and looked around.

All about, the giant bare mountains ringed the crater. Their gaunt, jagged outlines were a black ring against which was set the star-strewn wonder of the sky, in whose exact center slowly rotated the marvelous globe of Mother Earth.

The eerie Earthlight threw odd shadows and dark spots across the grayness of the plain. Here and there the mysterious-looking domes rose, the tops of bubbles as Robin had reason to know. In other places smaller craters and ringed ridges broke the surface.

"It looks desolate and barren," commented Peter on the helmet-radio. "Yet, you know, when we landed in the sunlight of the Moon's day, it wasn't all like this. There were patches of low scrubby plants growing in the lowest sections near spots where some air must have been seeping out. This crater is considerably lower than much of the surrounding areas on this central part of the Moon. The air here may be almost unnoticeable, but it is still just a bit denser even than it must be on the 'seas' beyond these crater walls."

"How did you spot that break in the wall we came through?" asked Robin, turning to search for it.

"As a matter of fact, it was quite obvious," said his brother. "In the sunlight, there's a distinct stream of vapor coming out of it and a lot of frozen water vapor all around. Further, it was just there that the green vegetation was growing thickest. It was quite inviting to a man looking for refuge ... otherwise I'd probably never have thought of it."

They trudged back to the rocket, climbed through the lock into the safety of the tiny cabin. Robin set the firing pin of the detonator switch, looked out. "It's the Western Hemisphere that's facing the Moon now," he said. "Just coming into view. Must be early morning around the New Mexico belt. You know, your Russian friends won't see this flare."

Peter looked up, shrugged. "We can fire another flare twelve hours later," he said. "I am not particular who rescues us. I am an American, you know. I owe something to the Soviets too. When you look at the world from here, from another planet, these distinctions of nationality seem so—somehow—unimportant. We are all humans, all from the same ancestors. Even if we were not brothers, we would feel ourselves such. Our roots go to all parts of the world. If you add up all people's ancestors a hundred generations back, you will realize that there can't be anyone who is not distantly related to everyone else—that we all share somebody in our ancestry who lived in every country of the world, shared all the histories of the past and all the different politics and opinions."

Peter grew quiet, as if a little amazed at his own outburst. Robin drew close to him, threw an arm around him. "I think when more men get out among the stars, people are going to realize that we can't afford to think of ourselves as anything other than citizens of Mother Earth. In the face of the universe, of Moonmen, of the inhabitants of the millions of other planets that must exist, our national differences seem so small, so much a private family matter as not to be thrashed out in the public of our interstellar neighbors. I think it's good we are brothers. All men are brothers."

Robin threw the switch.

Outside, the crater suddenly lighted up in a blinding white glare, a blaze that threw wild, dancing black shadows several miles across the floor, that momentarily lighted the great crags and precipices of the mountains, that made an outburst of grandeur in a moonscape of unearthly terror and beauty.

Five minutes later, when the flares had died down, Robin again threw the switch. The second set of magnesium bombs went off and again the crater was brilliantly lighted.

"On Earth that should stand out very sharply. It is nearly a new moon for them. This spot of light will be like a blinding diamond on a black velvet setting," said Peter poetically.

They rested now, taking their space suits off, lolling around on two hammocks, just talking, renewing acquaintance, exchanging experiences. They ate another meal, slept, finally donned their outfits again and set off the next set of flares a half Earth-day later, when the massive area of Eurasia was on the face of the globe in the Lunar sky.

"Now the Russian observers have had a chance to see us," said Peter. "We ought to go back to the underground world again. Our supplies here are not enough. In order to eat and breathe the next few months, we will have to live among the Glassies. We have to go back to the great cleft again."

"Yes," said Robin. "And that brings up the question of Von Borck. He'll be waiting for us, you know."

His brother nodded. "Ah, but this time we will be the ones who are armed and ready." He reached down, took out a second gun belt, handed it to Robin. "Use this. Strap it around your space suit."

Robin looked at it, lifted the pistol in its holster. "It's an army automatic," said Peter. "A Tokarev .30, built much the same as an American Colt. Here, I'll show you how it works."

He cautioned about the lack of a safety catch, showed how to load the clip of bullets. "Be careful of it, though. It has a strong kickback on Earth—here on the Moon, it may be quite tricky to fire a gun."

They dressed again in their outfits, loaded on other supplies that might come in handy, including a light carbine, hunting knife and axe, and waterproof pack of matches. They slung the gun belts around their waists, tied the nylon cord to each other as an added precaution, and made a last check of the rocket cabin.

The little radio signal was still humming. Some day it would bring a rescue ship. Whether that would be a matter of months or a matter of years was the only question. Robin gulped a bit at the prospect of spending more years away from his own world. Sight of Earth, the taste of real food had made him quite homesick.

He thrust such thoughts away, snapped tight his helmet plate, and nodded to Peter. They climbed out of the rocket, sealing the air-lock door. They stood for a moment outside the wreck, taking their bearings.

They turned to head for the cliff wall, when something went ping off a metal fixture on Robin's helmet. He started, pulled back and something seemed to flick past his eyes and pop against the side of the rocket.

He yelled and ducked for cover. "Look out, Peter! Get down!"

Standing on the surface, just outside the narrow crack that led underground, was the figure of a man—a man wearing a space suit similar to theirs, with a small dark object in his hand which issued a little flash of red fire.

"It's Von Borck," gasped Robin, "and he's shooting at us!"