r be changed to a descending spiral.
Biting into rarified air, he adjusted the hull heat distributor, cut in
the refrigeration unit, increased oxygen a trifle. He removed a small
envelope from its taped position on a panel and opened it to read his
landing instructions. Then he looked questioningly at Carol.

"Southwest Oregon. The Oregon Caves National Monument. We're to go in on
a beacon signal."

"You don't suppose they want us to show survival ability?"

"On a deal like this? No, something's haywire here. First, there's not a
strip that'll take the _Latecomer_ for at least a hundred miles around,
and the only road into the area twists like a snake. This baby wasn't
built with a chute, either. Second, it's only about ten miles from some
ranches, even if there's no one at the chateau, so it wouldn't be a
survival problem." He dropped the craft's nose a few more degrees.

"Are there any more instructions?"

"Must be." He unfolded the slip. "'Abandon ship immediately upon
landing. Enter bronze portal to Caves with all possible haste. Look for
inscribed square beside door, with a slot at each corner. Activate door
as follows: simultaneously insert curved blade of longer knife entirely
in upper left-hand slot, and straight blade of shorter knife entirely in
lower right-hand slot. Extreme emergency. Memorize and destroy these
orders.'" Carol hadn't seen the knives.

They lay in stunned silence until she gasped, "But, Ken--this means they
_knew_ about the emergency before we took off!"

He nodded grimly. "We were never supposed to reach the moon." He
crumpled the paper, thrust it into his mouth and chewed on it awhile,
then slipped it into the waste disposal unit. "Well, we'll pick up the
beacon and buzz the Caves area for possibilities. There was nothing said
about making radio contact, so we'll just listen in. Want to take over
the radio on the way down?" He forced the _Latecomer_ into as tight a
spiral as he dared. The wings were still useless here in the ionosphere.

Carol turned on the receiver, dialed expectantly. "Ken--the whole band
is silent!"

"Take it easy, Lieutenant honey--we're barely through the F_{2} layer."

But all bands remained dead except for sun static. Rockets chattering
for a 2G brake and directional control, they plunged through the F_{1}
stratum, losing Sol behind the eastern rim of Terra. Down, down for dim
countless minutes, through the thin ionization of E, past the lowest
ranges of a