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Updated: June 19, 2025
He was ready either to buckle on the diver's dress or to try the air-apparatus in order to find his courageous friends. During that time public opinion was excited to the highest point. Telegrams were incessantly exchanged all over the world through the electric wires and cables. The saving of Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan became an international business.
Yet here on the Moon Pop kept a waiting cannister on a shelf in his tiny dome, behind the air-apparatus. It rattled if he shook it, and it was worth no more than so many pebbles. But sometimes Pop wondered if Sattell ever thought of the value of the mine's production.
Jamison would take care of the catering, when meal-time came. Probably Alicia Keith no, Alicia Simms would help. Nothing else needed attention. The rockets either worked or they didn't. The air-apparatus needed no supervision. Cochrane found himself without a function. He went restlessly back to the control-room.
Down in the mine, blasting was done by soaking carbon black from CO in liquid oxygen, and then firing it with a spark. It exploded splendidly. And its fumes were merely more CO which an air-apparatus handled easily. He didn't do any blasting. He didn't find any signs of the sort of mineral he required. Marble would have been perfect, but there is no marble on the Moon. Naturally!
He put the lamp on top of the cotton and sprinkled magnesium marking-powder over everything. Then he went to the air-apparatus and took out a flask of the liquid oxygen used to keep his breathing-air in balance. He poured the frigid, pale-blue stuff into the cotton. He saturated it. All the inside of the shack was foggy when he finished. Then he pushed the cannister-top down.
"The air-apparatus stopped working a while back, and I don't want to sit around doing nothing while the air in the storage tanks is used up. Did you notice our friends, the enemy?" Through the great pilot's window the bulk of the Thessian ship's bow could be seen. It was cut across with an exactitude of mathematical certainty. "Easy to guess what happened," Morey grinned.
The shack above the Big Crack's rim was as tidy as any lighthouse or fur-trapper's cabin. He tended his air-apparatus with a fine precision. It was perfectly simple. In the shadow of the shack he had an unfailing source of extreme low temperature. Air from the shack flowed into a shadow-chilled pipe.
And leaning over the air-apparatus, he saw that the tap was giving out a flood of colourless, savourless, and odourless gas, eminently vital, but which in a pure state produces the gravest disorders in the constitution. Through carelessness Michel had left the tap full on.
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