millionsof tons of stuff to be moved. If we could get the sand away, we couldfinish the grid. If we could finish the grid, we'd have power enough toget the sand away--in a few years, and if we could replace the machinerythat wore out handling it. And if there wasn't another sandstorm."
He paused. Bordman took deep breaths of the cooler air. He could thinkmore clearly.
"If you will accept photographs," said Redfeather politely, "you cancheck that we actually did the work."
* * * * *
Bordman saw the implications. The colony had been formed of Amerinds forthe steel work and Africans for the labor the Amerinds were congenitallyaverse to--the handling of complex mining-machinery underground and thecontrol of modern high-speed smelting operations. Both races couldendure this climate and work in it--provided that they had cooledsleeping quarters. But they had to have power. Power not only to workwith, but to live by. The air-cooling machinery that made sleep possiblealso condensed from the cooled air the minute trace of water vapor itcontained and that they needed for drink. But without power they wouldthirst. Without the landing grid and the power it took from theionosphere, they could not receive supplies from the rest of theuniverse. So they would starve.
And the _Warlock_, now in orbit somewhere overhead, was well within theplanet's gravitational field and could not use its Lawlor drive toescape with news of their predicament. In the normal course of events itwould be years before a colony ship capable of landing or blasting outof a planetary gravitational field by rocket-power was dispatched tofind out why there was no news from Xosa II. There was no such thing asinterstellar signaling, of course. Ships themselves travel faster thanany signal that could be sent, and distances were so great that merecommunication took enormous lengths of time. A letter sent to Earth fromthe Rim even now took ten years to make the journey, and another ten fora reply. Even the much shorter distances involved in Xosa II'spredicament still ruled out all hope. The colony was strictly on itsown.
Bordman said heavily:
"I'll accept the photographs. I even accept the statement that thecolony will die. I will prepare my report for the cache Aletha tells meyou're preparing. And I apologize for any affront I may have offeredyou."
Dr. Chuka nodded approvingly. He regarded Bordman with benign warmth.Ralph Redfeather said cordially enough:
"That's perfectly all right. No harm done."
"And now," said Bordman shortly, "since I have authority to give anyorders needed for my work, I want to survey the steps you've taken tocarry out those parts of your instructions dealing with emergencies. Iwant to see right away what you've done to beat this state of things. Iknow they can't be beaten, but I intend to leave a report on what you'vetried!"
* * * * *
The _Warlock_ swung in emptiness around the planet Xosa II. It wasbarely five thousand miles above the surface, so the mottled terrain ofthe dry world flowed swiftly and perpetually beneath it. It did not seembeneath, of course. It simply seemed out--away--removed from the ship.And in the ship's hull there was artificial gravity, and light, andthere were the humming sounds of fans which kept the air in motion andflowing through the air apparatus. Also there was food, and adequatewater, and the temperature was admirably controlled. But nothinghappened. Moreover, nothing could be expected to happen. There wereeight men in the crew, and they were accustomed to space-voyages whichlasted from one month to three. But they had traveled a good two monthsfrom their last port. They had exhausted the visireels, playing themover and over until they were intolerable. They had read and reread allthe bookreels they could bear. On previous voyages they had played chessand similar games until it was completely predictable who would beatwhom in every possible contest.
Now they viewed the future with bitterness. The ship could not land,because there was no landing grid in operation on the planet below them.They could not depart, because the Lawlor drive simply does not workwithin five diameters of an Earth-gravity planet. Space is warped onlyinfinitesimally by so thin a field, but a Lawlor drive needs almostperfectly unstressed emptiness if it is to take hold. They did not havefuel enough to blast out the necessary thirty-odd thousand miles againstgravity. The same consideration made their lifeboats useless. They couldnot escape by rocket-power and their Lawlor drives, also, wereineffective.
The crew of the _Warlock_ was bored. The worst of the boredom was thatit promised to last without limit. They had food and water and physicalcomfort, but they were exactly in the situation of men sentenced toprison for an unknown but enormous length of time. There was no escape.There could be no alleviation. The prospect invited frenzy byanticipation.
A fist fight broke out in the crew's quarters within two hours after the_Warlock_ had established its orbit--as a first reaction to theircatastrophe. The skipper went through the ship and painstakinglyconfiscated every weapon. He locked them up. He, himself, already feltthe nagging effect of jangling nerves. There was nothing to do. Hedidn't know when there would ever be anything to do. It was a conditionto produce hysteria.
* * * * *
There was night. Outside and above the colony there were uncountablemyriads of stars. They were not the stars of Earth, of course, butBordman had never been on Earth. He was used to unfamiliarconstellations. He stared out a port at the sky, and noted that therewere no moons. He remembered, when he thought, that Xosa II had nomoons. There was a rustling of paper behind him. Aletha Redfeatherturned a page in a loose-leaf volume and painstakingly made a note. Thewall behind her held many more such books. From them could be extractedthe detailed history of every bit of work that had been done by thecolony-preparation crews. Separate, tersely-phrased items could beassembled to make a record of individual men.
There had been incredible hardships, at first. There were heroic feats.There had been an attempt to ferry water supplies down from the pole byaircraft. It was not practical, even to build up a reserve of fluid.Winds carried sand particles here as on other worlds they carriedmoisture. Aircraft were abraded as they flew. The last working fliermade a forced landing five hundred miles from the colony. A caterwheelexpedition went out and brought the crew in. The caterwheel trucks werearmored with silicone plastic, resistant to abrasion, but when they gotback they had to be scrapped. There had been men lost in suddensand-squalls, and heroic searches for them, and once or twice rescues.There had been cave-ins in the mines. There had been accidents. Therehad been magnificent feats of endurance and achievement.
Bordman went to the door of the hull which was Ralph Redfeather'sProject Engineer office. He opened it. He stepped outside.
It was like stepping into an oven. The sand was still hot from thesunshine just ended. The air was so utterly dry that Bordman instantlyfelt it sucking at the moisture of his nasal passages. In ten secondshis feet--clad in indoor footwear--were uncomfortably hot. In twenty thesoles of his feet felt as if they were blistering. He would die of theheat at night, here! Perhaps he could endure the outside near dawn, buthe raged a little. Here where Amerinds and Africans lived and throve, hecould live unprotected for no more than an hour or two--and that at onespecial time of the planet's rotation!
He went back in, ashamed of the discomfort of his feet and angrilyletting them feel scorched rather than admit to it.
Aletha turned another page.
"Look, here!" said Bordman angrily. "No matter what you say, you'regoing to go back on the _Warlock_ before----"
She raised her eyes.
"We'll worry about that when the time comes. But I think not. I'drather stay here."
"For the present, perhaps," snapped Bordman. "But before things get toobad you go back to the ship! They've rocket fuel enough for half a dozenlandings of the landing boat. They can lift you out of here!"
Aletha shrugged.
"Why leave here to board a derelict? The _Warlock_'s practically that.What's your honest estimate of the time before a ship equipped to helpus gets here?"
Bordman
would not answer. He'd done some figuring. It had been atwo-month journey from Trent--the nearest Survey base--to here. The_Warlock_ had been expected to remain aground until the smelter itbrought could load it with pig metal. Which could be as little as twoweeks, but would surprise nobody if it was two months instead. So theship would not be considered due back on Trent for four months. It wouldnot be considered overdue for at least two more. It would be six monthsbefore anybody seriously wondered why it wasn't back with its cargo.There'd be a wait for lifeboats to come in, should there have been amishap in space. There'd eventually be a report of noncommunication tothe Colony Survey headquarters on Canna III. But it would take threemonths for that report to be received, and six more for aconfirmation--even if ships made the voyages exactly at the mostfavorable intervals--and then there should at least