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Crawford looked away from the madly whirling rotors of the windmill farm. He was with the rest of the crew, sitting in the dome with his helmet off. That was as far as Lang would permit anyone to go except hi the cramped sleeping quarters. Song Sue Lee was at the radio giving her report to the Edgar Rice Burroughs. In her hand was one of the pump modules she had dissected out of one of the plants. It consisted of a half-meter set of eight blades that turned freely on
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teflon bearings. Below it were various tiny gears and the pump itself. She twirled it idly as she spoke.
"I don't really get it," Crawford admitted, talking quietly to Lucy McKillian. "What's so revolutionary about little windmills?"
"It's just a whole new area," McKillian whispered back. "Think about it Back on Earth, nature never got around to inventing the wheel. I've sometimes wondered why not There are limitations, of course, but it's such a good idea. Just look what we've done with it But all motion hi nature is confined to up and down, back and forth, in and out, or squeeze and relax. Nothing on Earth goes round and round, unless we built it. Think about it"
Crawford did, and began to see the novelty of it. He tried hi vain to think of some mechanism hi an animal or plant of Earthly origin that turned and kept on turning forever. He could not
Song finished her report and handed the mike to Lang. Before she could start, Weinstein came on the line.
"We've had a change in plan up here," he said, with no preface. "1 hope this doesn't come as a shock. If you think about it, you'll sл the logic hi it We're going back to Earth hi seven' days."
It didn't surprise them too much. The Burroughs had given then: just about everything it could hi the form of data and supplies. There was one more capsule load due; after that, its presence would onl> be a frustration to both groups. There was a great deal of irony hi having two such powerful ships so close to each other and being so helpless to do anything concrete. It was telling on the crew of the Burroughs.
"We've recalculated everything based on the lower mass without the twenty of you and the six tons of samples we were allowing for. By using the fuel we would have ferried down to you for takeoff, we can make a faster orbit down toward Venus. The departure date for that orbit is seven days away. We'll rendezvous with a drone capsule full of supplies we hadn't counted on." And besides, Lang thought to herself, it's much more dramatic. Plunging sunward on the chancy cometary orbit, their pantries stripped bare, heading for the fateful rendezvous . . .
*Td like your comments," he went on. "This isn't absolutely final as yet"
They all looked at Lang. They were reassured to find her calm and unshaken.
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"I think it's the best idea. One thing: you've given up on any thoughts of me flying the Podkayne?"
"No insult intended, Mary," Weinstein said gently. "But, yes, we have. It's the opinion of the people Earthside that you couldn't do it. They've tried some experiments, coaching some very good pilots and putting them into the simulators. They can't do it, and we don't think you could, either."
"No need to sugar-coat it I know it as well as anyone. But even a billion to one shot is better than nothing. I take it they think Crawford is right, that survival is at least theoretically possible?"
There was a long hesitation. "I guess that's correct. Mary, IT1 be frank. I don't think it's possible. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't expect ..."
"Thank you, Winey, for the encouraging words. You always did know what it takes to buck a person up. By the way, that other mission, the one where you were going to ride a meteorite down here to save our asses, that's scrubbed, too?"
The assembled crew smiled, and Song gave a high-pitched cheer. Weinstein was not the most popular man on Mars.
"Mary, I told you about that already," he complained. It was a gentle complaint and, even more significant he had not objected to the use of his nickname. He was being gentle with the condemned. "We worked on it around the clock. I even managed to get permission to turn over command temporarily. But the mock-ups they made Earthside didn't survive the re-entry. It was the best we could do. I couldn't risk the entire mission on a configuration the people back on Earth wouldn't certify."
"I know. I'll call you back tomorrow." She switched the set off and sat back on her heels. "I swear, if the Earthside tests on a roll of toilet paper didn't ... he wouldn't. . ." She cut the air with her hands. "What am I saying? That's petty. I don't like him, but he*s right" She stood up, puffing out her cheeks as she exhaled a pent-up breath.
"Come on, crew, we've got a lot of work."
They named their colony New Amsterdam, because of the windmills. The name of whirligig was the one that stuck on the Martian plants, though Crawford held out for a long time in favor of spinnakers.
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They worked all day and tried their best to ignore the Burroughs overhead. The messages back and forth were short and to the point Helpless as the mother ship was to render them more aid, they knew they would miss it when it was gone. So the day of departure was a stiff, determinedly nonchalant affair. They all made a big show of going to bed hours before the scheduled breakaway.
When he was sure the others were asleep, Crawford opened his eyes and looked around the darkened barracks. It wasn't much in the way of a home; they were crowded against each other on rough pads made of insulating material. The toilet facilities were behind a flimsy barrier against one wall, and smelled. But none of them would have wanted to sleep outside in the dome, even if Lang had allowed it.
The only light came from the illuminated dials that the guard was supposed to watch all night There was no one sitting in front of them. Crawford assumed the guard had gone to sleep. He would have been upset, but there was no time. He had to suit up, and he welcomed the chance to sneak out He began to furtively don his pressure suit.
As a historian, he felt he could not let such a moment slip by unobserved. Silly, but there it was. He had to be out there, watch it with his own eyes. It didn't matter if he never lived to tell about it, he must record it.
Someone sat up beside him. He froze, but it was too late. She nibbed her eyes and peered into the darkness.
"Matt?" she yawned. "What's. . . what is it? Is something-"
"Shh. I'm going out. Go back to sleep. Song?"
"Um hmmm." She stretched, dug her knuckles fiercely into her eyes, and smoothed her hair back from her face. She was dressed in a loose-fitting bottoms of a ship suit, a gray piece of dirty cloth that badly needed washing, as did all their clothes. For a moment, as he watched her shadow stretch and stand up, be wasn't interested in the Burroughs. He forced his mind away from her.
"I'm going with you," she whispered.
"All right. Don't wake the others."
Standing just outside the airlock was Mary Lang. She turned as they came out, and did not seem surprised.
"Were you the one on duty?" Crawford asked her.
"Yeah. I broke my own rule. But so did you two. Consider your-
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selves on report." She laughed and beckoned them over to her. They linked arms and stood staring up at the sky.
"How much longer?" Song asked, after some time had passed.
"Just a few minutes. Hold tight." Crawford looked over to Lang and thought he saw tears, but he couldn't be sure in the dark.
There was a tiny new star, brighter than all the rest, brighter than Phobos. It hurt to took at it but none of them looked away. It was the fusion drive of the Edgar Rice Burroughs, heading sunward, away from the long winter on Mars. It stayed on for long minutes, then sputtered and was lost. Though it was warm in the dome, Crawford was shivering. It was ten minutes before any of them felt like facing the barracks.
They crowded into the airlock, carefully not looking at each other's faces as they waited for the automatic machinery. The inner door opened and Lang pushed forwardЧand right back into the airlock. Crawford had a glimpse of Ralston and Lucy McKillian; then Mary shut the door.
"Some people have no poetry in their souls," Mary said.
"Or too much," Song giggled.
"You people want to take a walk around the dome with me? Maybe we could discuss ways of giving people a little privacy."