Ore, he reflected, was a joke. How would two men on foot prospect a sterilized world sealed into vacuum a hundred million years ago? And there would have been little point in it. This planet had boiled once, at least on the surface; and even the metallic core had been heated and churned, quite probably to melting, when crushed atoms expanded to normal dimensions. The entire globe must be nearly uniform, a one alloy lump. You took any piece, crushed it, gasified it, ionized it, put it through the electromagnetic isotope separator, and drew forth as muchўor, rather, as minutely littleўgermanium as any other piece would have given you. From the known rate of extraction by such methods you could calculate when you would have four kilograms. The date lay weeks away.
Maclaren finished cutting, shut off his torch and hung it on its generator, and climbed into the bucket of the crane at the pitтs edge. His flash-beam threw puddles of light on its walls as he was lowered. At the bottom he moved painfully about, loaded the bucket, and rode back to the surface. A small electric truck waited, he spilled the bucket into its box. And then it was to do again, and still again, until he had a full load.
Thank God and her dead designers, the Cross was well equipped for work on airless surfaces, she carried machines to dig and build and transport. But, of course, she had to. It was her main purpose, to establish a new transceiver station on a new moon; everything else could then come straight from the Solar System.
It had been her purpose.
It still was.
Maclaren climbed wearily onto the truck seat. He and his spacesuit had a fourth again their Earth-weight here. His headlights picked out a line of paint leading toward the ship. It had been necessary to blast the pit some distance away, for fear of what ground vibrations might do to the web or the isotope separator. But then a trail had to be blazed, for nature had given no landmarks for guide, this ground was as bare as a skull.
Existence was like lead in Maclarenтs bones.
After a while he made out the Cross, a flattened sphere
crowned with a skeleton and the Orion nebula. It was no fun having everything upside down within her; a whole day had gone merely to reinstall the essential items. Well, Seiichi, you did what seemed best, and your broken body lies honored with Chang Sverdlovтs, on the wide plains of iron.
Floodlights glared under the ship. Ryerson was just finishing the previous load, reducing stone to pebbles and thence to dust. Good timing. Maclaren halted his truck and climbed down. Ryerson turned toward him. The undiffused glow reached through his faceplate and picked a sunken, bearded face out of night, little more than nose and cheekbone and bristling jaw. In his unhuman armor, beneath that cavernous sky, he might have been a troll. Or I might,thought Maclaren. Humanity is far from us. We have stopped bathing, shaving, dressing, cooking . . . pretending; we work till our brains go blank, and then work some more, and crawl up the ladder into the ship for a few hoursт uneasy sleep, and are awakened by the clock, and fool our shriveled bellies with a liter of tea, and put a lump of food in our mouths and go out. For our time has grown thin.
уHello, Nibelung,ф said Ryerson.
Maclaren started. уAre you getting to be a telepath?ф
уItтs possible,ф said Ryerson. His voice had become a harsh whisper. His glance searched darkness. уAnything is possible here.ф
уAfter we put this load through,ф said Maclaren, evading the other thought, уweтd better move the slag out of the ship. That ninety-nine-plus per cent of material we donтt use piles up fast.ф
Ryerson clumped heavily to the truck and began unloading. уAnd then out once more, cutting and loading and grinding and . . . merciful God, but Iтm tired! Do you really imagine we can keep on doing heavy manual work like this, after the last food has been eaten?ф
уWeтll have to,ф said Maclaren. уAnd, of course, there is alwaysўф He picked up a rock. Dizziness whirled through him. He dropped the stone and sank to his knees on the ground.
уTerangi!ф Ryersonтs voice seemed to come from some Delphic deep, through mists. уTerangi, whatтs wrong?ф
уNothing,ф mumbled Maclaren. He pushed at the other
manтs groping arms. уLeaт me be . . . all right in a minute . . .у He relaxed against the stiffness of armor and let his weakness go through him in tides.
After a while, some strength returned. He looked up. Ryerson was just feeding the last rocks into the crusher. The machine ate them with a growl that Maclaren felt through the planet and his body. It vibrated his teeth together.
уIтm sorry, Dave,ф he said.
у╬S all right. You should go up and bunk for a while.ф
уJust a spell. Maybe we shouldnтt have cut our rations as short as we have.ф
уYou do seem toтve been losing weight even faster than me,ф said Ryerson. уMaybe you ought to have an extra ration.ф
уNah. Itтs metabolic inefficiency, brought on by well-spent years of wine, women, and off-key song.ф
Ryerson sat down beside him. уIтm a bit short of breath myself. Letтs both take a break while the stuff goes through the crusher.ф
уWell,ф said Maclaren, уif your tailbone insulators can stand it, I suppose mine can.ф
THEY remained in silence for a while. The machine rumbled in their flesh and the stars muttered in their heads.
уHow long do you think it will take to prepare the web?ф asked Maclaren. уI mean, whatтs your latest estimate?ф
уHitherto Iтve underestimated the time for everything,ф said Ryerson. уNow, I just donтt know. First weтll have to get our germanium. Then, to make the units . . . I donтt know. Two weeks, three? And then, once all the circuits are functioning, theyтll have to be tuned. Mostly by guesswork, since I donтt really know the critical constants. That will take x time, depending on how lucky we are.ф
уWeтll open the last can of food soon,ф said Maclaren. In itself it was a totally useless reminder, but it was leading up to something they had both avoided.
Ryerson continued to squirm: уThey say tobacco helps kill appetite.ф
уIt does,ф said Maclaren, уbut I smoked the last butts months ago. Now Iтve even lost the addiction. Though of course Iтll happily rebuild same the moment we strike Earth.ф
уWhen we come homeўф Ryersonтs voice drifted off like a murmur in sleep. уWe havenтt talked about our plans for a long time.ф
уIt got to be too predictable, what every man would say.ф
уYes. But is it now? I mean, do you still want to take that sailboat cruise around Earth, with . . . er . . . a female crew and a cargo of champagne?ф
уI donтt know,ф said Maclaren, faintly surprised to realize it. уI hadnтt thoughtўDo you remember once in space, we talked about our respective sailing experiences, and you told me the sea is the most inhuman thing on our planet?ф
уHm-m-mўyes. Of course, my sea was the North Atlantic. You might have had different impressions.ф
уI did. Still, Dave, it has stuck in my mind, and I see now you are right. Any ocean is, is tooўbig, old, blind for usўtoo beautiful.ф He sought the million suns of the Milky Way. уEven this black ocean weтre wrecked in.ф
уThatтs odd,ф said Ryerson. уI thought it was your influence
making me think more and more of the sea as a . . . not a
friend, I suppose. But hope and life and, oh, I donтt know. I
only know, Iтd like to take that cruise with you.ф
уBy all means,ф said Maclaren. уI didnтt mean Iтd become afraid of the water, just that Iтve looked a little deeper into it. Maybe into everything. Hard to tell, but Iтve had a feeling now and then, out here, of what Seiichi used to call insight.ф
уOne does learn something in space,ф agreed Ryerson. уI began to, myself, once Iтd decided that God hadnтt cast me out here and God wasnтt going to bring me back, it wasnтt His part
ўOh, about that cruise. Iтd want to take my wife, but sheтd understand about your, uh, companions.ф
уSurely,ф said Maclaren. уIтd expect that. Youтve told me so much about her, I feel like a family friend.ф
I feel as if I loved her.
уCome around and be avuncular when weтve settledў Damn, I forgot the quarantine. Well, come see our home on Rama in thirty years!ф
