thing was riding with them. A grumbling moan. Paul told himself:With Model L-46 it cannot happen—it cannot—Dorothy—Doc—
Dorothy cried, “Specks—in the open ground. Moving, hundreds of ’em. Oh, look! Smoke, Paul—campfires. How high are we?”
“Under seven thousand. Check your compass by the sunset, Doc. See if we have a magnetic north.”
“We do.…”
Spearman’s far-off voice said, “Life all right. I can’t make out—”
Paul cut in with hurried precision: “Ed—vibration, port wing, bad. I’m going to make one more circle over the woods if I can and try for the north end of this meadow.”
A startled croak: “I’ll jet off—give you room.” Paul saw the squirt of green flame. Ed’s boat darted westward like a squeezed apple seed. Paul dipped and leveled off as much as he dared. “We’re—all right.”
He lived with it a timeless time. Knowing it would happen. They were circling over jungle, pointed into sunset. The jet would only make matters worse—rip the heart out. Soon the meadow would come around again.…
But the moment was now. An end of the moaning vibration. A lurch. Paul’s hand leaped stupidly for the charlesite ignition and checked itself.
Calm, but for the reeling of sunset. I must tell Dorothy not to fight the straps: L-46 is solid—is solid—
Then the smash, the tearing and grinding. Somehow no death. Sky in the window changed to a gloom of purple and green. No death. Elastic branches? Metal whimpered and shrieked. Is that us? They built them solid.…
There was settling into silence. The pressure on Paul’s cheek, he knew, was the wonderfully living pressure of Dorothy’s hand, because it moved, it pinched his ear, it groped for his mouth. A hiss. Through the wrenched seams the old air of Earth yielded to the stronger weight of Lucifer’s. The starboard wing parted with a squeal like amusement, letting the boat’s body rest evenly on the ground, and Christopher Wright said, “Amen.”
CHAPTER 2
The Earphones Were Squawking: “Speak Up! Can you hear me? Can you—”
“Not hurt. Seams open, and there goes Sears’ thirty-six-hour test for air-borne bacteria. Down and safe, Ed.”
“Listen.” In relief, Ed Spearman was heavily didactic again. “You are three quarters of a mile inside the jungle. I will land near the woods. It will be dark in about an hour. Wait there until we—”
“One minute,” Paul said in sudden exhaustion. “We can find you, easier. Sears’ test is important. We’re already exposed to the air, but—”
“What? Can’t hear—damn it—” The voice dimmed and crackled.
“Stay sealed up!” Nothing. “Can you hear?” Nothing. “Oh, well, good,” said Paul, discarding the headset, adding foolishly: “I’m tired.”
Dorothy unfastened his straps; her kiss was warm and quick.
“Radio kaput, huh?” Wright flexed lean cautious legs. “Pity. I did want to tell Sears one I just remembered after eleven years, about poor lackadaisical Lou, who painted her torso bright blue, not for love, not for money, not because it looked funny, but simply for something to do.”
“You’re not hurt, Doc,” Dorothy said. “Not where it counts.”
“Can’t kill an anthropologist. Ask my student Paul Mason. Leather hides, pickled in a solution ten parts curiosity to one of statistics. Doctors are mighty viable too. Ask my student Dorothy Leeds.”
Paul’s forehead was wet. “Dark in an hour, he reminded me.”
“How close are we to the nearest of those parallel lines?”
“Three or four miles, Doc, at a loose guess.”
“Remember that great mess of ’em fifty or sixty miles south of here? Shows on Ed’s map. We must be—mm—seventy miles from the smallest of the two oceans—oh, let’s call it the Atlantic, huh? And the other one the East Atlantic? Anyway the ocean’s beyond that range of hills we saw on the way down.”
“I saw campfires in the meadow,” Dorothy said. “Things running.”
“I thought so too.… Paul, I wonder if Sears can do any testing of the air from the lifeboat? Some of the equipment couldn’t be transferred from Argo. And—how could they communicate with us? They’ll have to breathe it soon in any case.”
Paul checked a shuddering yawn. “I must have been thinking in terms ofArgo, which is—history.… You know, I believe the artificial gravity was stronger than we thought? I feel light, not heavy.”
“High oxygen?” Dorothy suggested. “Hot, too.”
“Eighty-plus. Crash suits can’t do us any more good.” They struggled out of them in the cramped space, down to faded jackets and shorts.
Wright brooded on it, pinching his throat. “Only advantage in the others’ staying sealed up a while is that if we get sick, they’ll get sick a bit later. Could be some advantage. Paul—think we should try to reach them this evening?”
“Three quarters of a mile, dark coming on—no. But so far as I’m concerned, Doc, you’re boss of this expedition. In the ship, Ed had to be—matter of engineering knowledge. No longer applies. I wanted to say that.”
Wright turned away. “Dorothy?”
She said warmly, “Yes. You.”
“I—oh, my dear, I don’t know that it’s—best.” Fretfully he added: “Shouldn’t need a leader. Only six of us—agreement—”
Dorothy held her voice to lightness: “I can even disagree with myself. Sears will want you to take over. Ann too, probably.”
His gray head sank in his hands. “As for that,” he said, “inside of me I’m apt to be a committee of fifteen.” Paul thought: But he’s not old! Fifty-two. When did he turn gray, and we never noticing it…?”For now,” Wright said, “let’s not be official about it, huh? What if my dreams for Lucifer are—not shared?”
“Dreams are never quite shared,” Dorothy said. “I want you to lead us.”
Wright whispered with difficulty, “I will try.”
Dorothy continued: “Ed may want things black and white. Not Ann, I think—she hates discussions, being obliged to make up her mind. You’re elected, soldier.… Can you open the door, Paul?”
It jammed in the spoiled frame after opening enough for a tight exit. Wright stared into evening. “Not the leader kind. Academic.” His white hands moved in doubtful protest. “Hate snap decisions—we’ll be forced to make a lot of them.”
Paul said, “They’re best made by one who hates making them.”
The lean face became gentle. “Taught you that myself, didn’t I, son…? Well—inventory.
