wall racks, the double bunks had not been fully erected; it was merely necessary to see that all the bits and pieces were in their place, for as soon as the inventory was completed everything would be packed and rushed to the site.
Lawrence did not interrupt the two storemen as they continued their careful stock-taking. This was one of those unexciting but vital jobs - of which there were so many on the Moon - upon which lives could depend. A mistake here could be a sentence of death for someone, sometime in the future.
When the checkers had come to the end of a sheet, Lawrence said, "Is this the largest model you have in stock?"
"The largest that's serviceable" was the answer. "We have a twelve-man Mark Nineteen, but there's a slow leak in the outer envelope that has to be fixed."
"How long will that take?"
"Only a few minutes. But then there's a twelve-hour inflation test before we're allowed to check it out."
This was one of those times when the man who made the rules had to break them.
"We can't wait to make the full test. Put on a double patch and take a leak reading; if it's inside the standard tolerance, get the igloo checked out right away. I'll authorize the clearance."
The risk was trivial, and he might need that big dome in a hurry. Somehow, he had to provide air and shelter for twentytwo men and women out there on the Sea of Thirst. They couldn't all wear space suits from the time they left Selene until they were ferried back to Port Roris.
There was a "beep beep" from the communicator behind his left ear. He flicked the switch at his belt and acknowledged the call.
"C. E. E. speaking."
"Message from Selene, sir," said a clear, tiny voice. "Very urgent - they're in trouble."
Chapter 19
Until now, Pat had scarcely noticed the man who was sitting with folded arms in window seat 3D, and had to think twice to remember his name. It was something like Builder - that was it, Baldur, Hans Baldur. He had looked like the typical quiet tourist who never gave any trouble.
He was still quiet, but no longer typical - for he was remaining stubbornly conscious. At first sight he appeared to be ignoring everything around him, but the twitching of a cheek muscle betrayed his tenseness.
"What are you waiting for, Mister Baldur?" asked Pat, in the most neutral tone that he could manage. He felt very glad of the moral and physical support ranged behind him; Baldur did not look exceptionally strong, but he was certainly more than Pat's Moon-born muscles could have coped with - if it came to that.
Baldur shook his head, and remained staring out of the window for all the world as if he could see something there besides his own reflection.
"You can't make me take that stuff, and I'm not going to," he said, in heavily accented English.
"I don't want to force you to do anything," answered Pat. "But can't you see it's for your own good - and for the good of everyone else? What possible objection do you have?"
Baldur hesitated and seemed to be struggling for words.
"It's - it's against my principles," he said. "Yes, that's it. My religion won't allow me to take injections."
Pat knew vaguely that there were people with such scruples. Yet he did not for a moment believe that Baldur was one of them. The man was lying. But why?
"Can I make a point?" said a voice behind Pat's back.
"Of course, Mister Harding," he answered, welcoming anything that might break this impasse.
"You say you won't permit any injections, Mister Baldur," continued Harding, in tones that reminded Pat of his crossexamination of Mrs. Schuster. (How long ago that seemed!) "But I can tell that you weren't born on the Moon. No one can miss going through Quarantine - so, how did you get here without taking the usual shots?"
The question obviously left Baldur extremely agitated.
"That's no business of yours," he snapped.
"Quite true," said Harding pleasantly. "I'm only trying to be helpful." He stepped forward and reached out his left hand. "I don't suppose you'd let me see your Interplanetary Vaccination Certificate?"
That was a damn silly thing to ask, thought Pat. No human eye could read the magnetically inscribed information on an IVC. He wondered if this would occur to Baldur, and if so, what he would do about it.
He had no time to do anything. He was still staring, obviously taken by surprise, at