Free The Collected Stories of Arthur C. Clarke by Arthur C. Clarke Page B

fingers idly along the transparent plastic of the great curving wall. It always gave him a thrill to think of the pressures that wall was withstanding—and the uncomfortable things that would happen if it ever gave way.
    The view from the Observatory was famous throughout the entire Solar System. The plateau on which it had been built was one of the highest points in the great lunar mountain range which the early astronomers had called the Alps. To the south the vast plain so inappropriately named the Mare Imbrium —Sea of Rains—stretched as far as the eye could reach.
    To the southeast the solitary peak of the volcanic mountain Pico jutted above the horizon. East and west ran the Alps, merging on the eastern side of the Observatory into the walled plain of Plato. It was nearly midnight and the whole vast panorama was lit by the brilliant silver light of the full Earth.
    Wheeler was just turning away when the flash of rockets far out across the Sea of Rains attracted his notice. Officially no ship was supposed to fly over the northern hemisphere, for the brilliant glare of a rocket exhaust could ruin in a second an exposure that might have taken hours, even days, to make. But the ban was not always obeyed, much to the annoyance of the Observatory directorate.
    ‘Wonder who that blighter is?’ growled Wheeler. ‘I sometimes wish we did have some guns on the Moon. Then we could shoot down trippers who try to wreck our programme.’
    ‘I call that a really charitable thought. Maybe Tech Stores can fix you up—they keep everything.’
    ‘Except what you happen to want. I’ve been trying to get a Hilger magnitude tabulator for the last month. “Sorry, Mr Wheeler, might be on the next consignment.” I’d see the Director about it if I weren’t in his bad books.’
    Jamieson laughed. ‘Well, if you must compose somewhat—er—personal limericks better not type them out next time. Stick to the old oral tradition like the ancient troubadours—it’s much safer. Hello, what’s he up to?’
    The last remark was prompted by the manoeuvres of the distant ship. It was losing height steadily, its main drive cut off, only the vertical jets cushioning its fall.
    ‘He’s going to land! Must be in trouble!’
    ‘No—he’s quite safe. Oh, very pretty! That pilot knows his stuff!’
    Slowly the ship fell out of sight below the rim of the mountains, still keeping on a level keel.
    ‘He’s down safely. If he’s not there’ll be a record firework display in just about ten seconds and we’ll feel the shock over here.’
    With a mingling of anxiety and morbid expectation the two men waited for a minute, eyes fixed on the horizon. Then they relaxed. There had been no distant explosion, no trembling of the ground underfoot.
    ‘All the same, he may be in trouble. We’d better ask Signals to give him a call.’
    ‘OK—let’s go.’
    The Observatory transmitter, when they reached it, was already in action. Someone else had reported a ship down beyond Pico and the operator was calling it on the general lunar frequency. ‘Hello, ship landing near Pico—this is Astron calling. Are you receiving me? Over.’
    The reply came after a considerable interval, during which the call was repeated several times. ‘Hello, Astron, receiving you clearly. Pass your message please. Over.’
    ‘Do you need any assistance? Over.’
    ‘No thank you. None at all. Out.’
    ‘OK. Astron out.’
    The operator switched off his carrier and turned to the others with a gesture of annoyance. ‘That’s a nice polite answer for you! Translated into English it means “Mind your own business. I won’t give you my call sign. Good-day.”’
    ‘Who do you think he is?’
    ‘No doubt about it. Government ship.’
    Jamieson and Wheeler looked at each other with a simultaneous surmise. ‘Maybe the doc was right, after all.’
    Wheeler nodded in assent. ‘Mark my words, pardner,’ he said, ‘there’s uranium in them thar hills. And I wish there