He hurriedly studied the space cabin, seeking the information Gotch had requested. The floor and walls were heavily padded with some foam material--standard procedure to absorb vibration and attenuate noise. Aside from the controls, there were no projecting metal surfaces or hard corners ... the view ports were larger ... acceleration pads smaller, thicker. All in all, the cabins of the two rockets were quite similar. He was examining the contents of the supply cabinets when Larkwell reminded him of their diminishing oxygen supply. They hurriedly plundered Bandit of six oxygen cylinders and started back across Arzachel's desolate plain. * * * * * Crag arbitrarily broke the lunar day into twenty-four hour periods to correspond with earth time. Twelve hours were considered as "day," the remaining time as "night." He set up regular communication periods in order to schedule their activities. Under the arrangement Alpine came in promptly at exactly a half-hour before breakfast--0500 by earth clock--and again following the evening meal. Prochaska monitored the channel during the workday to cover possible urgent messages. The schedule allowed a twelve-hour work period during the day and a three-hour work period following the evening meal, from 7:00 to 10:00. The communication periods quickly deteriorated into routine sessions--a good omen to Crag--but Gotch kept his finger in the pie. Crag had the satisfaction of knowing he was available around the clock. Consequently, when the communicator came to life midway through the regular twelve-hour work period, he knew something was brewing--something he wasn't going to like. So did Prochaska. His voice, when he called Crag to the communicator, spelled trouble. Crag used the ear microphones for privacy and acknowledged the call with a distinct feeling of unease. As he had expected, the caller was Gotch. "Drone Charlie was launched at 0600," he told Crag. "We'll feed you the data on the regular channels." There was a brief silence. "This one's got to make it," he added significantly. Crag said stonily: "We'll do our best." "I know you will, Commander. I have absolutely no fear on that score. How's everything going?" The twangy voice across the abyss of space took on a solicitous tone that set his nerves on edge. Something's wrong--something bad, he thought. The Colonel sounded like a doctor asking a dying patient how he felt. "Okay, everything seems in hand. We've got the ship in good shape and Larkwell thinks we might fare pretty well with the drone. It might be in better shape than we first thought." "Good, good, glad to hear it. We need a silver lining once in a while, eh?" "Yeah, but I'm fairly certain you didn't call just to cheer me up," Crag said dryly. "What's on your mind?" The silence came again, a little longer this time. CHAPTER 13