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About this Episode
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Transcript
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All day, September, quote,
Some men just haven't got a good sense.
They just can't seem to learn the most fundamental things.
Like when there's no use trying, when it's time to give up, because it's hopeless, unquote.
The meteor, a pebble, a little larger than a match had, traveled through space and time
since it came into being.
The light from the star that died when the meteor was created fell on earth, before
the first lungfish ventured from the sea.
In its last instant, the meteor fell on the moon.
It was impeded by Evan's tractor.
It drilled a small neat hole through the casing of the steam turbine, and volatized upon
striking the blades.
Portions of the turbine also volatized.
Idling at 8,000 RPM, it became unstable.
The shaft tried to tie itself into a knot, and the blades damaged and undamaged were spit
through the casing.
The turbine, again, reached a stable state that is stopped, permanently stopped.
It was two days to sunrise, where Evan stood.
It was just before sunset on a spring evening in September in Sydney.
The shadow line, between day and night, could be seen from the moon to be drifting across
Australia.
Evans, who had no watch, thought of the time as a quarter after Australia.
Evans was a prospector, and, like all prospectors, a sort of jackknife geologist,
salineologist, rather.
His tractor and equipment cost $250,000.
$50,000 was paid for.
The rest was promissory notes, and grub steak shares.
When he was broke, which was usually, he used his tractor to haul uranium ore and metallic
sodium from the mines at Potter's Dike to Williamson Town, where the rockets landed.
When he was flush, he would prospect for a couple of weeks.
Once he followed a stampede to Yellow Crater, where he thought, for a while, that he had
a fortune in Chromium, the Chromite pittered out in a month and a half, and he was lucky
to break even.
Evans was about 300 miles east of Williamson Town, the site of the first landing on the
moon.
Evans was due back at Williamson Town at about sunset, that is, in about 16 days.
When he saw the Ruck Turban, he knew that he wouldn't make it.
By careful rationing, he could probably stretch his food out to more than a month.
His drinking water, kept separate from the water and the reactor, might conceivably last
just as long, but his oxygen was too carefully measured.
There was a four-day reserve.
By diligent conservation, he might make it last an extra day.
Four days reserve, plus one is five, plus 16 days normal supply equals 21 days to live.
In 17 days, he might be missed, but in 17 days, it would be dark again, and the search
for him, if it ever began, could not begin for 13 more days.
If the earliest, it would be eight days too late.
Well, man, Tisa finds Spotyear in now, he told himself.
Let's find out how bad it is indeed, he answered.
He reached for the light switch, and tried to turn it on.
The switch was already in the on position.
Batteries must be dead, he told himself.
What batteries, he asked?
There are no batteries in here.
The power comes from the generator.
Why, as in the generator working, man, he asked?
He thought this one out carefully.
The generator was not turned by the main turbine, but by a small reciprocating engine.
The steam, however, came from the same boiler, and the boiler, of course, had emptied itself
through the hole in the turbine, and the condenser, of course, that condenser, he shouted.
He fumbled for a while until he found a small flash light.
By the light of this, he re-inspected the steam system, and found about three gallons of
water frozen in the condenser.
The condenser, like all condensers, was a device to convert steam into water, so that it
could be reused in the boiler.
This one had a tank and coils of tubing in the center of a curved reflector that was
positioned to radiate the heat of the steam into the cold darkness of space.
When the meteor pierced the turbine, the water and the condenser began to boil.
This boiling lowered the temperature, and the condenser demonstrated its efficiency by
quickly freezing the water in the tank.
Evans sealed the turbine from the rest of the steam system by closing the shut-off valves.
If there was any water in the boiler, it would operate the engine that drove the generator.
The water would condense in the condenser, and, with a little luck, melt the ice in there.
Then, if the pump wasn't blocked by ice, it would return the water to the boiler.
But there was no water in the boiler.
Carefully, he poured a cup of his drinking water into a pipe that led to the boiler, and
re-sealed the pipe.
He pulled on a knob marked, nuclear start, safety bypass.
The water that he had poured into the boiler quickly turned into steam, and the steam turned
the generator briefly.
Evans watched the lights flicker and go out, and he guessed what the trouble was.
The water, man, he said, there's not enough to melt the ice in the condenser.
He opened the pipe again, and poured nearly a half gallon of water into the boiler.
It was three days supply of water.
If it had been carefully used, it was one day supply, if used wastefully.
It was ostentatious luxury for a man with a month's supply of water, and 21 days to live.
The generator started again, and the lights came on.
They flickered as the boiler pressure began to fail, but the steam had melted some of
the ice in the condenser, and the water pump began to function.
Well, man, he breathed.
There's a light to die by.
The sun rose on Williamson Town, at about the same time it rose on Evans.
It was an incredibly brilliant disc in a black sky.
The stars next to the sun, shown as brightly as though there were no sun.
They might have appeared to waver slightly if they were behind outflung coronavirus.
If they did, no one noticed.
No one looked toward the sun without dark filters.
When director McElroy came into his office, he found it lighted by the rising sun.
The light was a hot, brilliant white that seemed to pierce the darkest shadows of the room.
He moved to the round window, screening his eyes from the light, and adjusted the polaroid
shade to maximum density.
The sun became an angry red brown, and the room was dark again.
McElroy decreased the density again, until the room was comfortably lighted.
The room felt stuffy, so he decided to leave the door to the inner office open.
He found a little guilty about this, because he had ordered that all doors in the survey
building should remain closed, except when someone was passing through them.
This was to allow the air conditioning system to function properly and to prevent air loss
in case of the highly improbable meteor damage.
McElroy thought that on the whole he was disobeying his own orders, no more flagrantly than
anyone else in the survey.
McElroy had no illusions about his ability to lead men.
Or rather, he did have one illusion.
He thought that he was completely unfit as a leader.
It was true that his strict disorders were disobeied with cheerful contempt.
But it was also true, his mildest requests were complied with eagerly and smoothly.
Everyone in the survey, except McElroy, realizes, and even he accepted this without thinking
about it.
He had fallen into the habit of suggesting mildly anything that he wanted done, and writing
orders he didn't particularly cared to have obeyed.
For example, because of an order of his stating that there would be no alcoholic beverages
within the survey building, the entire survey was assured of a constant supply of homemade,
but passively good liquor.
Even McElroy enjoyed the surreptitious drinking.
The morning, Mr. McElroy said, Mrs. Garth, his secretary, morning to Mrs. Garth was
simply the first four hours after waking.
Good morning, indeed, answered McElroy.
Morning to him had no meaning at all, but he thought in the strictest sense that it would
be morning on the moon for another week.
Has the power crew set up the solar furnace, he asked?
This solar furnace was a rough parabola of mirrors used to focus the sun's heat on anything
that it was desirable to heat.
It was used mostly from sun up to sundown to supplement the nuclear power plant.
They went out about an hour ago, she answered.
I suppose that's what they were going to do.
Very good.
What's first on the schedule?
A Mr. Phelps to see you, she said.
How do you do, Mr. Phelps?
Mr. McElroy created him.
Good afternoon, Mr. Phelps replied.
I'm here representing the Merchants Bank Association.
Fine, McElroy said.
I suppose you're here to set up a bank.
That's right.
I just got in from Mirac last night, and I've been going over the assets of these survey
credit association all morning.
I'll certainly be glad to get them off my hands.
McElroy said, I hope they're in good order.
There doesn't seem to be any profit, Mr. Phelps said.
That's par for a non-profit organization, said McElroy.
But we're amateurs, and we're turning this operation over to professionals.
I'm sure it will be to everyone's satisfaction.
I know this seems like a silly question.
What day is this?
Well, said McElroy, that's not so silly.
I don't know either.
Mrs. Garth, he called.
What day is this?
Why, September, I think, she answered.
I mean, what day?
I don't know.
I'll call the observatory.
There was a pause.
They say, what day, where?
She asked.
Greenwich, I guess, our official time is supposed to be Greenwich mean time.
There was another pause.
They say it's September 4th, 1.30 AM.
Well, there you are, left McElroy.
It isn't that time, doesn't mean anything here.
It just doesn't mean the same thing.
Mr. Phelps joined the laughter.
Ha!
Banker's hours don't mean much at any rate, he said.
The power crew was having trouble with the solar furnace.
Three of the nine banks of mirrors would not respond to the electric controls, and one
bank moved so jerkily that it could not be focused, and it threatened to tear several
of the mirrors loose.
What happened here, Spotted Cade, one of the electrical technicians asked his foreman,
Koalchuk over the intercommunications radio?
I've got about 100 pinholes on the cables out here.
It's not wonder they don't work.
Meteor shower, Koalchuk answered, and that's not half of it.
Walker says he's got a half dozen mirrors cracked or pitted, and Hoffman, on bank three,
wants you to replace a servo motor.
He says the bearing was hit.
When did it happen, Cade wanted to know.
Must have been last night, at least two or three days ago.
All of them too small for radar to pick up, and not enough for seismos to get a rumble.
Sounds pretty bad.
Could have been worse, said Koalchuk.
How's that?
Wasn't anybody out in it?
Hey, Chuck!
Another technician, Laman, broke in.
You could maybe get hurt that way.
I doubt it, Koalchuk answered.
Most of these were penhead size, and they wouldn't go through a suit.
It would take a pretty big one to damage a servo bearing, Cade commented.
That could hurt, Koalchuk admitted, but there was only one of them.
You mean only one hit our gear?
Laman said, how many missed?
Nobody answered.
They could all see the moon under their feet.
Small craters overlapped and touched each other.
There was, except in the places that men had obscured them with footprints, not a square
foot that didn't contain a crater, at least ten inches across.
There was not a square inch without its half inch crater.
Nearly all of these had been made millions of years ago, but here and there, the REM of
a crater covered part of a footprint, clear evidence that it was a recent one.
After the sun rose, Evans returned to the lava cave that he had been exploring when
the meteor hit.
Inside, he lifted his filter visor and found that the light reflected from the small ray
that peered into the cave door, lighted the cave adequately.
He tapped loose some white crystals on the cave wall with his geologist hammer and put
them into a collector's bag.
A few mineral specimens would give us something to think about, man.
These crystals, he said, look a little like zeolites, but that can't be.
Zeolites need water to form, and there's no water on the moon.
He chipped a number of other crystals loose and put them in bags.
One of them he found in a dark crevice had a hexagonal shape that puzzled him.
One at a time, back in the tractor, he took the crystals out of the bags and analyzed
them as well as he could without using a flame which would waste oxygen.
The ones that look like zeolites, were zeolites alright, or something very much like it.
One of the crystals that he thought was quartz turned out to be calcite, and one of the
ones that he was sure could be nothing but calcite was actually potassium nitrate.
Well now, he said, it's probably the largest natural crystal of potassium nitrate that
anyone has ever seen.
Man, it's a full inch across.
All of these needed water to form, and their existence on the moon puzzled him for a while.
Many opened the bag that had contained the unusual hexagonal crystals, and the puzzle
resolved itself.
There was nothing in the bag, but a few drops of water.
What he had taken to be a type of rock was ice, frozen in a niche that had never been
warmed by the sun.
The sun rose to the meridian slowly.
It was a week after sunrise.
The stars shone coldly, and wheeled in their slow course with the sun.
Only Earth remained in the same spot in the black sky.
The shadow line crept around until Earth was nearly dark, and then the rim of light appeared
on the opposite side.
For a while, Earth was a dark disc in a thin halo, and then the light came to be accrescent,
and the line of dawn began to move around Earth.
The continents drifted across the dark disc, and into the crescent.
The people on Earth saw that full moon set about the same time that the sun rose.
Nickel Jones was the captain of a supply rocket.
He made trips from and to the moon, about once a month, carrying supplies in and metal
and oars out.
At this time he was visiting with his old friend Mikkelroy.
I swear, Mac, said Jones, another season like this, and I'm going back to mining.
I thought you were doing pretty well, said Mikkelroy, as he poured two drinks from a bottle
of scotch that Jones had brought him.
Oh, the money I like, but I will say that I'd have more if I didn't have to fight the
union and the Lunar Trade Commission.
Mikkelroy had heard all of this before.
How's that?
He asked politely.
I may think it's myself running the ship.
Jones started on his tirade, but it's not.
The union it is that says who I can hire.
The union it is that says how much I must pay and how large a crew I need.
And then the commission.
The word seemed to give Jones an unpleasant taste in his mouth, which he hurriedly rents
with a sip of scotch.
That commission, he continued, making the word sound like an obscenity, is it that tells
me how much I can charge for freight.
Mikkelroy noticed that his friend's glass was empty and he quietly filled it again.
And then continued Jones, if I buy a cargo up here, the commission it is that says what
I'll sell it for.
If I had my way, I'd charge only fifty cents a pound for freight instead of the dollar
forty that the commission insists on.
That's from here to Earth, of course.
There's no profit I could make by cutting rates the other way.
Why not, asked Mikkelroy?
He knew the answer, but he liked to listen to the slightly Welsh voice of Jones.
Near cost it is now at a dollar forty.
But what sense is there in charging the same rate to go either way when it takes about
a seventh of the fuel to get from here to Earth as it does to get from there to here?
What good would it do to charge fifty cents a pound, asked Mikkelroy?
The nickel man, the tons of nickel worth a dollar and a half on Earth, and not worth
mining here.
The low-grade ores of uranium and vanadium, they need these things on Earth, but they can't
get them as long as it isn't worth the carrying them.
And then, of course, there's the water we have in God.
We could afford to bring more water for more people and set up more distilling plants if
we had the money from the nickel.
Even though I said who shouldn't, 280 a quart is too much to pay for water.
Both men felt silent for a while, then Jones spoke again.
Have you seen our friend Evan lately?
The price of chromium has gone up, and I think he could ship some of his ore from yellow
crater at a profit.
He's out prospecting again, I don't expect to see him until he's signed down.
I'll likely see him then.
I won't be loaded for another week and a half.
Can't you get in touch with him by radio?
He isn't carrying one.
Most of the prospectors don't.
They claim that a radio that won't carry beyond the horizon isn't any good, and one
that will bounce messages from Earth takes up too much room.
Well, if I don't see him, you let him know about the chromium.
Anything to help another Welshman is out the idea?
Well, protection is that a poor Welshman needs from all the English and Scots, speaking
of which, oh, of course, McElroy grand as he refilled the glasses.
Salante McElroy Bach, health McElroy man, salante importer Bach, great help man.
The sun was halfway to the horizon, and Earth was a crescent in the sky, when Evans
had quarried all the ice that was available in the cave.
They thought grue on him as he worked, that this couldn't be the only such cave in the
area.
There must be several more bubbles in the lava flow.
Part of his reasoning proved correct.
That is, he found that by chipping he could locate small bubbles up to an ancient diameter,
each one with its droplet of water.
The average was about 1% of the volume of each bubble filled with ice.
A quarter of a mile from the tractor, Evans found a promising looking mound of lava.
It was rounded on top, and could easily be the dome of a bubble.
Suddenly, Evans noticed that the gauge on the oxygen tank of his suit was reading dangerously
near empty.
He turned back to his tractor, moving as slowly as he felt safe in doing.
Running would use up oxygen too fast.
He was halfway there when the pressure warning light went on, and the signal sounded inside
his helmet.
He turned on his ten minute reserve supply, and made it to the tractor with about five
minutes left.
The air purifying apparatus in the suit was not as efficient as the one in the tractor.
It wasted oxygen.
By using the suit so much, Evans had already shortened his life by several days.
He resolved not to leave the tractor again, and reluctantly abandoned his plan to search
for a large bubble.
The sun stood at half its diameter about the horizon.
The shadows of the mountains stretched out to touch the shadows of the other mountains.
The dawning line of light covered half of earth, and earth turned beneath it.
Koaltrich etched under his suit, and the sweat on his face prickled, maddeningly, because
he couldn't reach it through his helmet.
He pushed his forehead against the faceplate of his helmet, and rubbed off some of the sweat.
It didn't help much, and it left a blurred spot in his vision.
That annoyed him.
As everyone cleared the outlet, he asked, all clear, he heard Cade report through the
intercom, how come we have to blow the boilers now, Aslamin?
Because I said so, Koaltrich shouted, surprised that his outburst and ashamed of it.
Boiler scale, he continued, much calmer.
We've got to clean out the boilers once a year to make sure the tubes and the reactor
don't clog up.
He squinted through his dark visor at the reactor building, a gray concrete structure,
a quarter of a mile distant.
It would be pretty bad if they clobbed up some night.
Pressures ten and a half pounds, said Cade.
Right, let it go, said Koaltrich, Cade through a switch.
In the reactor building, a relay close, a motor started turning, and the worm gear on
the motor opened a valve on the boiler.
A stream of muddy water gushed into a closed vat.
When the vat was about half full, the water began to run nearly clear.
An electric eye noted that fact, and a light in front of Cade turned on.
Cade threw the switch back the other way, and the relay and the reactor building opened.
The motor turned, and the gears started to close the valve.
After a fragment of boiler-scale held the valve open, valve stuck, said Cade.
Open it, and close it again, said Koaltrich.
This wet on his forehead started to run into his eyes.
He banged his hand on his face plate in an unconscious attempt to wipe it off, he cursed
silently, and wiped it off on the inside of his helmet again.
This time, two drops ran down the inside of his face plate.
Still not work, said Cade.
Keep trying, Koaltrich ordered.
Laman, get a guy here counter, and come with me.
We got to fix this thing.
Laman and Koaltrich, who were already suited up, started to cross to the reactor building.
Cade, who was in the pressurized control room without a suit on, kept working the switch
back and forth.
There was light that indicated that the valve was open.
It was on, and it stayed on, no matter what Cade did.
The valve pressure is too high, Cade said.
Let me know when it reaches six pounds.
Koaltrich requested, because it'll probably blow at seven.
The valve was a light plastic container used only to decant sludge out of water.
It neither needed nor had much strength.
Six now, said Cade.
Koaltrich and Laman stopped halfway to the reactor.
The valve bulged and ruptured.
A stream of mud, gushed out, and boiled dry on the face of the moon.
Koaltrich and Laman rushed forward again.
They could see the trickle of water from the discharge pipe.
The motor turned the valve back and forth in response to Cade's signals.
What's going on out there?
Demanded mech-el-roy on the intercom.
Scale stuck in the valve.
Koaltrich answered.
Are the reactors off?
Yes, that blew.
Shut up.
Let me work, Mac.
Sorry, mech-el-roy said.
Realizing that this was no time for officials.
Let me know when it's fixed.
Geiger's off-scale, Laman said.
We're probably OK in these suits for an hour.
Koaltrich answered.
Is there a manual shut off?
Nothing I know of, Laman answered.
What about it, Cade?
I don't think so, Cade said.
I'll get on the blower and rouse out an engineer.
OK, but keep working that switch.
I checked the line as far as it's safe, said Laman.
No valve.
OK, Koaltrich said.
Listen, Cade, are the injectors still on?
Yeah, there's still enough heat in these reactors to do some damage.
I'll cut them in about 15 minutes.
I found the trouble, Laman said.
The worm gears loose on its shaft.
It's slipping every time the valve closes.
There's not enough power in it to crush the scale.
Right, Koaltrich said.
Cade, open the valve wide.
Laman, hand me that pipe wrench.
Koaltrich hit the shaft with the back of the pipe wrench
and it broke at the motor bearing.
Koaltrich and Laman fitted the pipe wrench
to the gear on the valve and turned it.
Is the light off?
Koaltrich asked.
No, Cade answered.
Water stopped.
Give us some pressure.
We'll see if it holds.
20 pounds, Cade answered after a couple of minutes.
Take her up to.
No, wait, it's still leaking.
Koaltrich said, hold it there.
We'll open the valve again.
OK, said Cade.
An engineer here says there's no manual cut off.
Like hell, said Laman.
Koaltrich and Laman opened the valve again.
Water spurred out and dwindled as it closed the valve.
What did you do, ask Cade?
The light went out and came on again.
Check that circuit and see if it works.
Koaltrich instructed.
There was a pause.
It's OK, Cade said.
Koaltrich and Laman opened and closed the valve again.
Light is off now.
Cade said, good, said Koaltrich.
Take the pressure up all the way and we'll see what happens.
800 pounds, Cade said after a short way.
Good enough, Koaltrich said.
Tell that engineer to hold up a while.
He can fix this thing as soon as he gets parts.
Come on, Laman, let's get out of here.
Well, I'm glad that's over, said Cade.
You guys have been worried for a while.
Think we weren't worried?
Laman asked.
And it's not over.
What?
Cade asked.
Oh, you mean the valve's servo, you two bashed up.
No, said Laman.
I mean the 2,000 gallons of water that we'd lost.
2,000?
Cade asked.
We only had 700 gallons reserved.
How come we can operate now?
We picked up 1,200 from the town sewage plant.
What with using the solar furnace as a radiator, we can make do.
Oh, God, I suppose this means of water rationing again.
You're probably right, at least until the next rocket lands
in a couple of weeks.
Prospector Feard lost on moon.
IPP Williamson Town, moon, September 21st.
Scientific survey director, McElroy,
released a statement today that Howard Evans, a prospector,
is missing and presumed lost.
Evans, who was apparently exploring the moon
in search of minerals, was due two days ago.
But it was presumed that he was merely temporarily delayed.
Evans began his exploration on August 25th
and was known to be carrying several days reserve
of oxygen and supplies.
Director McElroy has expressed a hope
that Evans will be found before his oxygen runs out.
Search parties have started from Williamson Town,
but telescopic search from Palomar and the new satellite
observatory are hindered by the fact
that Evans is lost on the part of the moon, which
is now dark.
Little hope is held for radio contact with the missing man
as it is believed he was carrying only short-range intercommunications
equipment.
Nevertheless, receivers are Captain Nichol Jones
was also expressing a hope.
Anyway, Mac, he was saying to McElroy,
a Welshman knows when his lucks run out.
And never a word did he say.
Like is not your right, McElroy replied.
But I know Evans.
He'd never say a word without any foreboding.
Well, happen I might have a bit of Welsh's second side
about me, and it tells me that Evans will be found.
McElroy chuckled for the first time in several days.
So that's the reason you didn't take off
when you were scheduled, he said.
Well, yes, Jones answered.
I thought that it might happen that a rocket would
be needed in the search.
The light from Earth lighted the moon
as the moon had never lighted Earth.
The great blue globe of Earth, the only thing larger
than the stars, wheeled silently in the sky.
As it turned, the shadow of sunset
crept across the face that could be seen from the moon.
From full Earth, as you might say,
it moved toward last quarter.
The rising sun shone into director McElroy's office.
The hot light formed a circle on the wall opposite the window,
and the light became more intense as the sun slowly
pulled over the horizon.
Mrs. Garth walked into the director's office
and saw the director sleeping with his head
cradled in his arms on the desk.
She walked softly to the window and adjusted the shade
dark in the office.
She stood looking at McElroy for a moment,
and when he moved slightly in his sleep,
she walked softly out of the office.
A few minutes later, she was back with cup of coffee.
She placed it in front of the director
and shook his shoulder gently.
Wake up, Mr. McElroy.
She said, you told me to wake you at sunrise,
and there it is, and here's Mr. Phelps.
McElroy woke up slowly.
He leaned back in his chair and stretched.
His neck was stiff from sleeping in such an awkward position.
Morning, Mr. Phelps, he said.
Good morning, Phelps answered, dropping tiredly into a chair.
Have some coffee, Mr. Phelps, said Mrs. Garth,
heading him a cup.
And he knows, asked McElroy.
About Evans, Phelps shook his head slowly.
Palomar called in a few minutes back.
Nothing to report, and the sun was rising there.
Australia will be in position pretty soon.
Several observatories there, then Cape Town.
There are lots of observatories in Europe,
but most of them are clouded over.
Anyway, the satellite observatory
will be in position by the time Europe is.
McElroy was fully awake.
He glanced at Phelps and wondered how long it had been
since he had slept last.
More than that, McElroy wondered why this banker,
who had never met Evans, was losing so much sleep
about finding him.
It began to dawn on McElroy that nearly the whole population
of Williams in town was involved, one way or another,
in the search.
The director turned to ask Phelps about this fact,
but the banker was slumped in his chair, fast asleep,
with his coffee, untouched.
It was three hours later that McElroy woke Phelps.
They found the tractor.
McElroy said, good, Phelps mumbled.
And then his comprehension came.
That's fine.
That's just fine.
Is Evans?
Can't tell yet.
They spotted the tractor from the satellite observatory.
Captain Jones took off a few minutes ago,
and he'll report back as soon as he lands.
Hadn't you better get some sleep?
Evans was carrying a block of ice into the tractor.
When he saw the rocket coming in for a landing,
he dropped the block and stood waiting.
When the dust settled from around the tail of the rocket,
he started to run forward.
The airlock opened, and Evans recognized
the vacuum-sooted figure of Michael Jones.
Evans' man said Jones, voice in the intercom, a live you are.
A welshman takes a lot of killing, Evans answered.
Later, an Evans tractor, he was telling his story.
And I don't know how long I sat there
after I found the water.
He looked at the gold burgiant device
he had made out of wire and tubing.
Finally, I built this thing.
These caves were made of lava.
They must have been formed by steam sometime,
because there's a floor of ice in all of them.
The idea didn't come all at once.
It took a long time for me to remember
that water is made out of oxygen and hydrogen.
When I remembered that, of course,
I remembered that it can be separated with electricity.
So I built this thing.
It runs on an electric current through water.
Let's the oxygen loose in the room
and pipes the hydrogen outside.
It doesn't work automatically, of course,
so I run it about an hour a day.
My oxygen level gauge shows how long.
You're a genius man, Jones exclaimed.
No, Evans answered, oh, well, Schman, nothing more.
Well then, said Jones, are you ready to start back?
Back?
Well, it was to rescue you that I came.
I don't need rescuing, man.
Evans said, Jones stared at him blankly.
You might let me have some food, Evans continued.
I'm getting short of that.
And you might have someone sent out a mechanic
with parts to fix my tractor.
Then maybe you'll let me use your radio to file my claim.
Claim?
Sure, man.
I have thousands of tons of water here.
It's the richest mine on the moon.
End of all day, September, by Roger Coykendall.
