approached an area of increasing noise. It was a dull noise, but deafening—as of millions of heavy, wet pieces of leather dropping on a huge untightened drum. Then the noise became more distinct.
From dozens of club-shaped, quivering stalactites hanging from the ceiling overhead, a veritable hail of black objects fell, and were deflected, now on one side, now on the other, by inflated gray membranes, like bladders, then were snatched in midair by fast arms and arranged neatly at the bottom, side by side, in quadrangles and straight rows. Every so often a huge thing, the size of a whale's head, would emerge and with a long sigh suck in several rows of "finished product" at a time.
"The storehouse," the Engineer explained. "They arrive from above—that's a kind of conveyor—and are collected and returned to the cycle."
"How do you know they're returned?" asked the Physicist.
"Because the storehouse is full."
Nobody really understood this, but they said nothing and continued on.
It was almost four o'clock when the Captain gave the order to leave. They were in a section consisting of two parts. The first part produced rough disks equipped with handles; the second cut off the handles and attached elliptical rings in their place, whereupon the disks journeyed underground and returned smooth—"clean-shaven," as the Doctor said—in order to have ear-shaped handles affixed to them again.
When the men came out on the plain, the sun was strong, still high overhead. As they walked to the spot where they had left their tent and packs, the Engineer said, "Well, it's beginning to make sense."
"Really?" the Chemist sneered.
The Captain nodded and turned to the Doctor. "How would you describe it?" he asked.
"A corpse," the Doctor said.
"What do you mean, a corpse?" asked the Chemist, who was still in the dark.
"An animated corpse," the Doctor added. They went on a bit farther in silence.
"Is someone going to explain or not?" asked the Chemist, irritated.
"It's an automated complex for the production of miscellaneous parts, which eventually, in the course of time, went completely out of kilter, because it was left unsupervised," the Engineer said.
"Ah! And how long ago, do you think…?"
"That I don't know."
"A rough guess … several decades," said the Cyberneticist.
"Or even longer. I wouldn't be surprised if the complex was abandoned two hundred years ago."
"Or a thousand years ago," the Captain said.
"Management computing systems fail at a rate corresponding to the coefficient—" the Cyberneticist began, but was interrupted by the Engineer:
"Their systems may operate on different lines from ours; they may not even be electronic. Personally, I don't think they are. The elements are nonmetallic, semifluid."
"Never mind that," said the Doctor. "What do you think the prospects are? Myself, I'd say they're poor."
"You mean the planet's inhabitants?" asked the Chemist.
"That's precisely what I mean."
III
It was late at night when they reached the knoll where their ship was. To travel faster, and also to avoid meeting any denizens of the copse, they went by way of an area where the vegetation parted to form a lane about sixty feet wide, as though an enormous plow had gone through. Nothing grew here but a velvety lichen and moss.
Hungry, tired, with only one flashlight, they decided to pitch their tent outside the ship. The Physicist had such a terrible thirst—their water supply had run out on the trek back—that he entered the tunnel and went into the ship. He was gone a long time. They were inflating the tent when they heard him shouting in the tunnel. They hurried over and helped him out. He was trembling, so upset that he couldn't speak.
"What happened? Calm down!" they shouted. The Captain grabbed him firmly by the shoulders.
The Physicist pointed to the hull looming above them. "There was something in there."
"What was it?"
"I have no idea."
"How do you know something was there?"
"I entered the
From dozens of club-shaped, quivering stalactites hanging from the ceiling overhead, a veritable hail of black objects fell, and were deflected, now on one side, now on the other, by inflated gray membranes, like bladders, then were snatched in midair by fast arms and arranged neatly at the bottom, side by side, in quadrangles and straight rows. Every so often a huge thing, the size of a whale's head, would emerge and with a long sigh suck in several rows of "finished product" at a time.
"The storehouse," the Engineer explained. "They arrive from above—that's a kind of conveyor—and are collected and returned to the cycle."
"How do you know they're returned?" asked the Physicist.
"Because the storehouse is full."
Nobody really understood this, but they said nothing and continued on.
It was almost four o'clock when the Captain gave the order to leave. They were in a section consisting of two parts. The first part produced rough disks equipped with handles; the second cut off the handles and attached elliptical rings in their place, whereupon the disks journeyed underground and returned smooth—"clean-shaven," as the Doctor said—in order to have ear-shaped handles affixed to them again.
When the men came out on the plain, the sun was strong, still high overhead. As they walked to the spot where they had left their tent and packs, the Engineer said, "Well, it's beginning to make sense."
"Really?" the Chemist sneered.
The Captain nodded and turned to the Doctor. "How would you describe it?" he asked.
"A corpse," the Doctor said.
"What do you mean, a corpse?" asked the Chemist, who was still in the dark.
"An animated corpse," the Doctor added. They went on a bit farther in silence.
"Is someone going to explain or not?" asked the Chemist, irritated.
"It's an automated complex for the production of miscellaneous parts, which eventually, in the course of time, went completely out of kilter, because it was left unsupervised," the Engineer said.
"Ah! And how long ago, do you think…?"
"That I don't know."
"A rough guess … several decades," said the Cyberneticist.
"Or even longer. I wouldn't be surprised if the complex was abandoned two hundred years ago."
"Or a thousand years ago," the Captain said.
"Management computing systems fail at a rate corresponding to the coefficient—" the Cyberneticist began, but was interrupted by the Engineer:
"Their systems may operate on different lines from ours; they may not even be electronic. Personally, I don't think they are. The elements are nonmetallic, semifluid."
"Never mind that," said the Doctor. "What do you think the prospects are? Myself, I'd say they're poor."
"You mean the planet's inhabitants?" asked the Chemist.
"That's precisely what I mean."
III
It was late at night when they reached the knoll where their ship was. To travel faster, and also to avoid meeting any denizens of the copse, they went by way of an area where the vegetation parted to form a lane about sixty feet wide, as though an enormous plow had gone through. Nothing grew here but a velvety lichen and moss.
Hungry, tired, with only one flashlight, they decided to pitch their tent outside the ship. The Physicist had such a terrible thirst—their water supply had run out on the trek back—that he entered the tunnel and went into the ship. He was gone a long time. They were inflating the tent when they heard him shouting in the tunnel. They hurried over and helped him out. He was trembling, so upset that he couldn't speak.
"What happened? Calm down!" they shouted. The Captain grabbed him firmly by the shoulders.
The Physicist pointed to the hull looming above them. "There was something in there."
"What was it?"
"I have no idea."
"How do you know something was there?"
"I entered the
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