уYes,ф said the pilot. уA riskful way, but any other is certain death. We can take the ship down, and use her for our readymade workshop and airdome.ф
уThe Cross? But . . . well, of course the gravitation here is no problem to her, nor the magnetism now that the drive is shieldedўbut we canтt make a tail landing. Weтd crumple the web, and . . . hellтs clanging bells, she canтt land at all! Sheтs not designed for it! Not maneuverable enough, why, it takes half an hour just to swing her clear around on gyros.ф
Nakamura said calmly, уI have made calculations for some time now, preparing for this eventuality. There was nothing we could do before knowing what we would actually find, but I do have some plans drawn up. We have six knocked-down auxiliary craft. Yes? It will not take long to assemble their nonionic rocket drives, which are very simple devices, clamp these to the outside hull, and run their control systems through the shipтs console. I think if we all work hard we can have it assembled, tested, and functioning in two or three days. Each pair of rockets should be so mounted as to form a couple which will rotate the ship around one of the three orthogonal space axes. No? Thus the spaceship will become most highly responsive to piloting. Furthermore, we shall cut up the aircraft hulls, as well as whatever else we may need and can spare for this purpose, such as interior fittings. From this, we shall construct a tripod enclosing and protecting the stern assembly. It will be clumsy and unbalanced, of courseўbut I trust
my poor maneuverings can compensate for thatўand it will be comparatively weakўbut with the help of radar and our powerful ion-blast, the ship can be landed very gently.ф
уHm-m-m.ф Maclaren rubbed his chin. His eyes flickered between the other two faces. уIt shouldnтt be hard to fix those rocket motors in place, as you say. But a tripod more than a hundred meters long, for a thing as massive as this shipўI donтt know. If nothing else, how about the servos for it?ф
уPlease.ф Nakamura waved his words aside. уI realize we have not time to do this properly. My plan does not envision anything with self-adjusting legs. A simple, rigid structure must suffice. We can use the radar to select a nearly level landing place.ф
уAll places are, down there,ф said Maclaren. уThat iron was boiling once, and nothing has weathered it since. Of course, there are doubtless minor irregularities, which would topple us on our tripodўwith a thousand tons of mass to hit the ground!ф
Nakamuraтs eyes drooped. уIt will be necessary for me to react quickly,ф he said. уThat is the risk we take.ф
WHEN the ship was prepared, they met once on the observation deck, to put on their spacesuits. The hull might be cracked in landing. Maclaren and Ryerson would be down at the engine controls, Nakamura in the pilotтs turret, strapped into acceleration harness with only their hands left free.
Nakamuraтs gaze sought Maclarenтs. уWe may not meet again,ф he said.
уPossible,ф said Maclaren.
The small, compact body held steady, but Nakamuraтs face thawed. He had suddenly, after all the time which was gone, taken on an expression; and it was gentle.
уSince this may be my last chance,ф he said, уI would like to thank you.ф
уWhatever for?ф
уI am not afraid any more.ф
уDonтt thank me,ф said Maclaren, embarrassed. уSomething like that, a chap does for himself, yт know.ф
уYou earned me the time for it, at least.ф Nakamura made a weightless bow. уSensei, give me your blessing.ф
Maclaren said, with a degree of bewilderihent: уLook here, everybody else has had more skill, contributed more, than I. Iтve told you a few things about the star and the planet, but youўDave, at leastўcould have figured it out with slightly more difficulty. Iтd never have known how to reconstruct a drive or a web, though; and Iтd never be able to land this ship.ф
уI was not speaking of material survival,ф said Nakamura. A smile played over his mouth. уStill, do you remember how disorganized and noisy we were at first, and how we have grown so quiet since and work together so well? It is your doing. The highest interhuman art is to make it possible for others to use their arts.ф Then, seriously: уThe next stage of achievement, though, lies within a man. You have taught me. Knowingly or not, Terangi-san, you have taught me. I would give much to be sure you will . . . have the chance . . . to teach yourself.ф
Ryerson appeared from the lockers. уHere they are,ф he said. уTin suits all around.ф
Maclaren donned his armor and went aft. I wonder how much Seiichi knows. Does he know that Iтve stopped making a fuss about things, that I didnтt exult when we found this planet, not from stoicism but merely because I have been afraid to hope?
I wouldnтt even know what to hope for. All this struggle, just to get back to Earth and resume having fun? No, thatтs too grotesque.
уWe should have issued the dayтs chow before going down,ф said Ryerson. уMight not be in any shape to eat it at the other end.ф
уWhoтs got an appetite under present circumstances?ф said Maclaren. уSo postponing dinner is one way of stretching out the rations a few more hours.ф
уSeventeen daysт worth, now.ф
уWe can keep going, foodless, for a while longer.ф
уWeтll have to,ф said Ryerson. He wet his lips. уWe wonтt mine our metal, and gasify it, and separate out the fractional per cent of germanium, and make those transistors, and tune the circuits, in any seventeen days.ф
Maclaren grimaced. уStarvation, or the canned willy weтve been afflicted with. Frankly, I donтt think thereтs much difference.ф
Hastily, he grinned at Ryerson, so the boy would know it for a jest. Grumbling was not allowed any more; they didnтt dare. And the positive side of conversation, the dreaming aloud of уwhen we get home,ф had long since worn thin. Dinner-table conversation had been a ritual they needed for a while, but in a sense they had outgrown it. Now a man was driven into his own soul. And thatтs what Seiichi meant, thought Maclaren. Only, I havenтt found anything in myself Or, no. I have. But I donтt know what. Itтs too dark to see.
He strapped himself in and began checking instruments.
уPilot to engine room. Read off!ф
уEngine room to pilot. Plus voltage clear. Minus voltage clear. Mercury flow standardўф
The ship came to life.
And she moved down. Her blast slowed her in orbit, she spiraled, a featureless planet of black steel called her to itself. The path was cautious. There must be allowance for rotation; there must not be too quick a change of velocity, lest the ponderous sphere go wobbling out of control. Again and again the auxiliary motors blasted, spinning her, guiding her. The iondrive was not loud, but the rockets roared on the hull like hammers.
And down. And down.
Only afterward, reconstructing confused memories, did Maclaren know what had happened; and he was never altogether sure. The Cross backed onto an iron plain. Her tripod touched, on one foot, on two. The surface was not quite level. She began to topple. Nakamura lifted her with a skill that blended main drive and auxiliaries into one smooth surgeў such skill as only an utterly relaxed man could achieve, responding to the immense shifting forces as a part thereof. He rose a few hundred meters, changed position relative to the ground, and tried again. The tripod struck on two points once more. The ship toppled again. The third leg went off a small bluff, no more than a congealed ripple in the iron. It hit ground hard enough to buckle.
Nakamura raised ship barely in time. For an instant he
poised in the sky on a single leg of flame, keeping his balance with snorts of rocket thrust. The bottom of the Crossт stern assembly was not many meters above ground.
Suddenly he killed the ion drive. Even as the ship fell, he spun her clear around on the rotator jets. The Cross struck nose first. The pilotтs turret smashed, the bow caved in, automatic bulkheads slammed shut to save the air that whistled out. That was a great mass, and it struck hard. The sphere was crushed flat for meters aft of the bow. With her drive and her unharmed transceiver web aimed at the sky, the ship rested like Columbusт egg.
And the stars glittered down upon her.
Afterward Maclaren wondered: Nakamura might well have decided days beforehand that he would probably never be able to land any other way. Or he might have considered that his rations would last two men an extra week. Or perhaps, simply, he found his dark bride.
XV.
THE planet spun quickly about its axis, once in less than ten hours. There went never a day across its iron plains,
but hunger and the stars counted time. There was no wind, no rain, no sea, but a manтs radio hissed with the thin dry talk of the stars.
When he stood at the pitтs edge and looked upward, Maclaren saw the sky sharp and black and of an absolute cold. It had a somehow three-dimensional effect; theory said all those crowding suns, blue-white or frosty gold or pale heartless red, were alike at optical infinity, but the mind sensed remoteness beyond remoteness, and whimpered. Nor was the ground underfoot a comfort, for it was almost as dark, starlit vision reached a few meters and was gulped down. A chopped-off Milky Way and a rising constellationўthe one Maclaren had privately named Risus, the Sneerўtold him that a horizon existed, but his animal instincts did not believe it.
He sighed, slapped a glare filter across his faceplate, and began cutting. The atomic hydrogen torch was lurid enough to look upon, but it jostled the stars out of his eyes. He cut rapidly, ten-kilo slabs which he kicked down into the pit so they wouldnтt fuse tight again. The hole itself had originally been
blasted, but the Cross didnтt carry enough explosive for him to mine all his ore that way.
