Part 2

"Just that. That's the why of last night's test. The sun inside here is to be shifted by projected forces until the center of gravity of the moon's total mass is at the proper focus. Then the shell turns over until the crater Gates called Nemesis is in the right position. By now the motor spins the mercury until centrifugal force reverses the natural convexity and the ten mile vat of mercury becomes a big concave mirror.

"The reflected light beam can be narrowed down to any desired size by changing the concavity--altering the motor speed. Just by shifting Luna's inner sun."

"Why," gasped Bonwitt, "if all the sun's heat over a ten mile diameter mirror were focussed on a spot say one mile in diameter on our Earth, one hundred times normal sun energy would be concentrated in this area. Anything would be instantly consumed."

"You've hit the nail on the head," said Peterson. "_One_ nail. That's Gates's nail, which I intend to pull out. But the Lunarians plan only to make a plane mirror of the mercury crater, which would not overheat anything on Earth but only provide a lane through which their photon cars can pass. They believe they can effect a peaceful colonization."

"What do you mean, Gates's nail?" Bonwitt's lips set grimly.

"World conquest! Worse--revenge. He intends to blast all big cities to ruin, then resume the dictatorship that was once his father's."

"His father's?" Memory came to the young engineer of history. Establishment of the World Government in 1975. Exiling a man who had set himself up as World Dictator. Yes, his name had been Gates. He had died in Siberia. And _this_ Gates was the son--explaining the signalling to Earth. A party of adherents waited there for a millennium or something. "But _you_ helped with his signals," Bonwitt accused.

"I did," grinned the older man, "to keep this screwball's gang together where I can blast _them_ out of existence as soon as I get Gates. Gates discovered inner Luna and, the fool, told me about it. Played right into my hands."

Bonwitt shuddered. Here was a double-crosser of the first water. "How do you plan to upset the beans and where do you profit yourself?" he asked.

"I'll kill off the Selenites--there's only a million or so--with a supersonic generator Gates developed. Their brains are susceptible to a certain vibration rate; they'll die like flies. And Gates won't be here to interfere. There'll be no more Selenites; _I'll_ dictate to Earth. I'll blast some forests and a couple of villages to show them I can do it. Perfect, isn't it?"

The engineer stared. Peterson was a madman, a wholesale killer at heart--worse. "What would be your terms?" Bonwitt asked steadily.

"Not harsh. I don't want to be a dictator nor to destroy cities. I hate politics and war both. But I'll control Earth just the same--with wealth and power. I'll demand personal title to the moon and to Atomic's two space ships. To the larger ship for distant planet exploration now under construction as well. Also a billion dollars in gold delivered to me here on Luna. With these advantages, I can do anything I want to. Care to join me or not?"

Mad, totally mad, this scheme of Peterson's. But just mad enough to come near succeeding unless he were stopped. The world would, in panic, concede anything if ever he should get as far as turning over the moon and burning forests and villages. For that matter, his madness might then flare up to the point of wreaking wholesale destruction as Gates proposed and intended. Bonwitt would have to play for time.

"Sure, I'll join up," he lied. "Who wouldn't?"

* * * * *

Peterson smiled paternally. "Right; who wouldn't? And once I get control, see how many more will join up. Beats working for Atomic, doesn't it?"

Bonwitt nodded dully. Fantastic as the thing was, the engineer recognized the danger to Crane and himself. The world could take care of itself. But the Selenites? Here were Gates and Peterson both plotting their destruction. For all Bonwitt knew, Gates might be planning the same thing against Peterson. If either won out it would be bad for a certain engineer and an ethertype man. Maybe--

"I'd like to see your ethertype myself," he told Peterson. "It's the one you used to communicate with Peel from the workings, isn't it?"

"Huh? How'd you know that?" The super tensed suspiciously, then relaxed. "Oh, Crane guessed, I suppose. Sure, you can see it. Follow me."

When they reached the ethertype room, it was to see Gates, wild of eye and disheveled of clothing, standing over Crane with one of the odd pistols in his hand. Crane's head was missing--blasted away. With a screech of pure animal fury, Bonwitt dived at the killer. Off guard, the big ethertype man went down and his pistol clattered into a corner. But he was up in a flash and the engineer was in for a battle.

He ducked too late and took a right to his temple that set him spinning and seeing stars. A left cross spun him back and, by enraging him, cleared his head. He clinched to get breath, then flung the big radio man off and drove him against the table. Gates staggered and hung on under a rain of body blows, rallied to come back with a left and a right that both jolted Bonwitt's jaw. Then he was tearing at the engineer's eyes with clawed fingers, bearing him to the floor.

So it was to be that kind of fighting! Bonwitt heaved up and got a full Nelson on his wriggling foe that nearly snapped his spine. He downed Gates, panting, cursing between his teeth. He could see Crane's poor headless body sprawled there. The sight robbed him of all knowledge of what he was doing and he did not return to normal until the voice of Peterson halted him. Only then did he realize that he had been banging Gates's head against the metal floor with all the force of a pounding sledge.

"He's dead," gloated Peterson. "Save your strength."

Bonwitt saw that it was true. His antagonist's skull was a thing squashed, unrecognizable. Sick at the stomach, he reeled to his feet.

Peterson stood regarding him with a cryptic smile, a pistol in either hand, his own and Gates's. "Good work," he approved. "Saved me trouble. But we'll have to get rid of the bodies. Have to tell Peel I've sent the two to the workings temporarily."

He eyed the panting engineer sharply and was apparently satisfied, for he thrust the two pistols in his belt. But he wasn't taking any chances with the powerful and alert Bonwitt; he'd been quick to snatch that second pistol out of reach during the fight.

* * * * *

The succeeding days were nightmares of uncertainty to Bonwitt. Under Peterson's eye constantly, no way of getting the upper hand over the man occurred to him. And, could he have done that, he'd still have the Selenites to account to. Besides, even if he could remove Peterson and get himself away, there was little time left in which to do it. It was self-preservation now.

The big geared down motor was already starting to churn the mercury in the crater above into rotation. Its starting torque must be terrific to get that huge mass of metal in motion. Even to think of so enormous a disc, liquid or solid, in rotation was staggering; the speed must be not in revolutions per minute but a fraction of one turn in that terrestrial measure of time. For, even at one revolution per minute, the peripheral speed of the mass would be 31.416 miles a minute. Not only an impossible figure but far in excess of that needed.

Time fled on wings. Bonwitt did his best to locate the supersonic wave generator. If he could find this and warn Peel he might circumvent Peterson and perhaps earn from the brown men a gratitude that would pave the way for Earth's acceptance of them as colonists.

The more he contacted them the more he liked the little brown folk and the more he sympathized with their wish to get to the good green Earth. Essentially harmless, they were most admirable in their manner of living and considerate in their relations one to the other.

Undoubtedly, New York had long since known of the absence of four important men from the Lunar workings. By now, quite likely, they had sent over one of the transports to learn what was wrong. But nothing could be done from there; they didn't even know of inner Luna.

Bonwitt's nerves drew tautly near the breaking point. Peterson was waiting until the last minute to loose his supersonic vibrations on the unsuspecting brown folk. He'd have to wait till the moon had turned over and the beam of reflected sunlight was directed earthward. For the huge machines necessary to these important preliminaries needed many men in their operation. After that, these men could be dispensed with. One man could operate the final controls; one could blast out an entire city if he wished; one could operate the ethertype and make terms. Two were better; perhaps that was why Bonwitt was still alive.

All too quickly came the day. Huge machines hummed and groaned. The great gelid sun began to roll slowly over the inner surface of the satellite. The outer shell of the moon started rotating. Luna was turning over. The great mirror of liquid metal above was revolving at precisely the speed to produce a plane surface, astronomically plane.

Peel was at the final control with Peterson beside him, watching the viewing plate. Bonwitt was there, too. Peel's customary two guards.... The engineer hadn't had time to find the supersonic wave generator. How could Peterson get away to activate it? Bill's eyes dropped accidentally to the man's feet, one of which was edging toward the base of the control pedestal. A hidden button was there; this wholesale murder was to be accomplished by remote control!

On the vision plate, Earth swung into view. The hitherto unseen side of the moon was facing it. What a furore must be upsetting both amateur and professional astronomers at home! Only a thin crescent was Earth now, with a vast dim area lighted only by moonlight from here.

Soon there'd be a brilliant circle up there, a circle ten miles in diameter, sharp against the near-blackness. And, if Peterson won, it would close in gradually until there would be a searing, blazing speck consuming everything within its one mile circle. Not if Bonwitt could stop it. The super's foot, he saw, was nearing the secret button.

The sense of swaying motion ceased; the moon once more was still, ominously so. Earth rushed forward in the viewplate as the magnification of the radio telescope was multiplied. Peel depressed a lever and, in slightly more than a second of time, there flashed a circle of sunlight that enclosed nighttime New York City and its environs. What a panic this must be starting! Peterson's foot moved suddenly. In the same instant, Bonwitt flung himself upon him, slamming him to the floor.

"Peel! Peel!" he yelped, fighting to keep the maniac's hands from his pistols. "He'll kill you all. Believe me, Peel!"

Then, amazingly, there was the screaming hiss of a lunar weapon. Peterson's head exploded almost in his face with brilliant pyrotechnics. Peel had killed the man and was standing there grinning in a most friendly manner, pistol holstered, waiting for the engineer to rise.

"Thanks, good friend," Peel was saying. "We knew he traitor but not find machine. Pauchek learn some but not know all. _You_ fix."

That explained the incident of the unfortunate machinist. Bonwitt could only goggle at the Gosak of inner Luna as he rose to face him.

"You fix," repeated the little brown ruler. "You keep my people safe. Now we ready to talk your people. We go help they. They help we. Not?"