figures?”
Masters muttered, “Reliable enough. We’ll have to throw out practically everything. Doors, furniture, clothes. And then—”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know,” Masters muttered, and slunk away.
It was the twenty-fourth of December.
Tidal winds increased in savagery in direct proportion to the growing angular diameter of the invading planet. Heavy, dully colored birds fought their way overhead. On the flanks of abruptly rising cliff edges, gnarled trees lashed. Rain fell spasmodically. Clouds moved in thoroughly indiscriminate directions. Tentacular leaves whirlpooled. Spray, under the wind’s impact, cleared the river gorge. The waterfall was muted.
Rushing voluminous air columns caught at the growing pile emerging from the ship’s interior, whisked away clothing, magazines, once a mattress. It did not matter. Two worlds were to crash in that momentous, before-history forming of the asteroids. There was but one certainty. This plain, these mountains – and a cave – were to stay intact through the millions of years.
Inside the air lock, Masters stood beside a heavy weight scale. Light bulbs, dishes, silverware, crashed into baskets indiscriminately, the results weighed, noted, discarded. Doors were torn off their hinges, floors ripped up. Food they would keep, and water, for though they eventually reached Earth, they could not know whether it yet supported life.
The ship, devoid of furnishings, had been a standard eleven tons for an H–H drive. Furnishing, food, et cetera, brought her to over thirteen tons. Under a one and a half gravity, it was twenty tons. Masters’ figures, using the firing area the ship now had, with more than half the jets beyond use, were exact enough. The maximum lift the jets would or could afford was plus or minus a hundred pounds of ten and three quarter tons.
Masters looked up from his last notation, eyes red-rimmed, lips twitching. Braker and Yates and Tony were standing in the air lock, watching him.
Fear flurried in Masters’ eyes. “What are you looking at me like that for?” he snarled. Involuntarily, he fell back a step.
Yates giggled.
“You sure do take the fits. We was just waiting to see how near we was to the mark. There ain’t anything else to bring out.”
“Oh, there isn’t?” Masters glared. “We’re still eight hundred pounds on the plus side. How about the contraction machinery?”
Tony said: “It’s our only hope of getting back to the present. Overland needs it to rebuild the drive.”
“Pressure suits!”
“We’re keeping six of them, in case the ship leaks.”
“Doors!” said Masters wildly. “Rugs!”
“All,” said Tony, “gone.”
Masters’ nails clicked. “Eight hundred pounds more,” he said hoarsely. He looked at his watch, said, “Eleven hours plus or minus,” took off his watch and threw it out. He made a notation on his pad, grinning crookedly. “Another ounce gone.”
“I’ll get Overland,” Tony decided.
“Wait!” Masters thrust up a pointing finger. “Don’t leave me alone with those two wolves. They’re waiting to pounce on us. Four times one hundred and fifty is six hundred.”
“You’re bats,” said Braker coldly.
“Besides,” said Yates, “where would we get the other two hundred pounds?”
Masters panted at Tony, “You hear that? He wants to know where they’d get the other two hundred pounds!”
“I was joking,” said Yates.
“Joking!
Joking!
When he tried to knife me once!”
“Because,” concluded Yates, “the cards call for only one skeleton.
I’ll
get him.”
He came back shortly with Laurette and her father.
Overland fitted his glasses over his weak eyes while he listened, glancing from face to face.
“It would be suicidal to get rid of the machinery, what’s left of it. I have another suggestion. We’ll take out all the direct-vision ports. They might add up to eight hundred pounds.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Braker slowly. “We can wear pressure
Masters muttered, “Reliable enough. We’ll have to throw out practically everything. Doors, furniture, clothes. And then—”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know,” Masters muttered, and slunk away.
It was the twenty-fourth of December.
Tidal winds increased in savagery in direct proportion to the growing angular diameter of the invading planet. Heavy, dully colored birds fought their way overhead. On the flanks of abruptly rising cliff edges, gnarled trees lashed. Rain fell spasmodically. Clouds moved in thoroughly indiscriminate directions. Tentacular leaves whirlpooled. Spray, under the wind’s impact, cleared the river gorge. The waterfall was muted.
Rushing voluminous air columns caught at the growing pile emerging from the ship’s interior, whisked away clothing, magazines, once a mattress. It did not matter. Two worlds were to crash in that momentous, before-history forming of the asteroids. There was but one certainty. This plain, these mountains – and a cave – were to stay intact through the millions of years.
Inside the air lock, Masters stood beside a heavy weight scale. Light bulbs, dishes, silverware, crashed into baskets indiscriminately, the results weighed, noted, discarded. Doors were torn off their hinges, floors ripped up. Food they would keep, and water, for though they eventually reached Earth, they could not know whether it yet supported life.
The ship, devoid of furnishings, had been a standard eleven tons for an H–H drive. Furnishing, food, et cetera, brought her to over thirteen tons. Under a one and a half gravity, it was twenty tons. Masters’ figures, using the firing area the ship now had, with more than half the jets beyond use, were exact enough. The maximum lift the jets would or could afford was plus or minus a hundred pounds of ten and three quarter tons.
Masters looked up from his last notation, eyes red-rimmed, lips twitching. Braker and Yates and Tony were standing in the air lock, watching him.
Fear flurried in Masters’ eyes. “What are you looking at me like that for?” he snarled. Involuntarily, he fell back a step.
Yates giggled.
“You sure do take the fits. We was just waiting to see how near we was to the mark. There ain’t anything else to bring out.”
“Oh, there isn’t?” Masters glared. “We’re still eight hundred pounds on the plus side. How about the contraction machinery?”
Tony said: “It’s our only hope of getting back to the present. Overland needs it to rebuild the drive.”
“Pressure suits!”
“We’re keeping six of them, in case the ship leaks.”
“Doors!” said Masters wildly. “Rugs!”
“All,” said Tony, “gone.”
Masters’ nails clicked. “Eight hundred pounds more,” he said hoarsely. He looked at his watch, said, “Eleven hours plus or minus,” took off his watch and threw it out. He made a notation on his pad, grinning crookedly. “Another ounce gone.”
“I’ll get Overland,” Tony decided.
“Wait!” Masters thrust up a pointing finger. “Don’t leave me alone with those two wolves. They’re waiting to pounce on us. Four times one hundred and fifty is six hundred.”
“You’re bats,” said Braker coldly.
“Besides,” said Yates, “where would we get the other two hundred pounds?”
Masters panted at Tony, “You hear that? He wants to know where they’d get the other two hundred pounds!”
“I was joking,” said Yates.
“Joking!
Joking!
When he tried to knife me once!”
“Because,” concluded Yates, “the cards call for only one skeleton.
I’ll
get him.”
He came back shortly with Laurette and her father.
Overland fitted his glasses over his weak eyes while he listened, glancing from face to face.
“It would be suicidal to get rid of the machinery, what’s left of it. I have another suggestion. We’ll take out all the direct-vision ports. They might add up to eight hundred pounds.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Braker slowly. “We can wear pressure
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