I

Like a black cover, the darkness of the cosmic night 
rested on the lunar surface. No stars were in the sunless 
sky to create illusions of light and warmth. Only the 
inset headlights in both of the mens space suit helmets 
threw light into the abyss-deep darkness and let the 
dead, ragged moon mountains and craters emerge in a 
spectral appearance.
   With an unchecked arm swing, Dewey Copeland 
hurled the sonarscope from himself. The small 
gravitational force of the Moon ensured that the heavy 
sonar equipment flew many meters through the vacuum 
and fell silently to the soil somewhere outside of the 
beams of their headlights.
   "Oh, damn it all!" he swore bitter. "What's all this 
nonsense for?"
   Michael Altmann heard Copelands strangely 
distorted voice through the headphones of his space 
helmet. Astonished and dumfounded, he stared at the 
other. He and Copeland were colleagues and friends. 
They had gotten the job of looking for new Tiranium 
stores with the help of the sonarscope. And now 
Copeland had made it impossible that they would fulfill 
their mission.
   "Have you gone insane?" Altmann roared into his 
radio microphone.
   "No", Copeland shouted back, "I'm not insane. But 
you must be, because you still take part in this insanity!"
   "Insanity? You know damned well that the Tiranium 
supply of the base is almost used up. Without Tiranium, 
no energy. And without energy. . . We'll all certainly die 
in a really short amount of time."

5