Sutton got through," said Anderson.
Adams nodded. "Sutton got through," he said.
"I don't like it," Clark declared. "I don't like a thing about it. Someone got a brainstorm. Our ships are too big, they said. If we used smaller ships, we might squeeze through. As if the thing that kept us off was a mesh or something."
"Sutton got through," said Adams, stubbornly. "They launched him in a lifeboat and he got through. His small ship got through where the big ones couldn't."
Clark shook his head, just as stubbornly. "It don't make sense," he said. "Smallness and bigness wouldn't have a thing to do with it. There's another factor somewhere, a factor we've never even thought of. Sutton got through all right and he crashed and if he was in the ship when it crashed, he died. But he didn't get through because his ship was small. It was for some other reason."
The men sat tense, thinking, waiting.
"Why Sutton?" Anderson asked, finally.
Adams answered quietly. "The ship was small. We could only send one man. We picked the man we thought could do the best job if he did get through."
"And Sutton was the best man?"
"He was," said Adams, crisply.
Anderson said amiably, "Well, apparently, he was. He got through."
"Or was let through," said Blackburn.
"Not necessarily," said Anderson.
"It follows," Blackburn contended. "Why did we want to get into the Cygnian system? To find out if it was dangerous. That was the idea, wasn't it?"
"That was the idea," Adams told him. "Anything unknown is potentially dangerous. You can't write it off until you are sure. These were Sutton's instructions: Find out if 61 is dangerous."
"And by the same token, they'd want to find out about us," Blackburn said. "We'd been prying and poking at them for several thousand years. They might have wanted to find out about us as badly as we did about them."
Anderson nodded. "I see what you mean. They'd chance one man, if they could haul him in, but they wouldn't let a full-armed ship and a full crew get within shooting distance."
"Exactly," said Blackburn.
Adams dismissed the line of talk abruptly, said to Clark, "You spoke of dents. Were they made recently?"
Clark shook his head. "Twenty years looks right to me. There is a lot of rust. Some of the wiring was getting pretty soft."
"Let us suppose, then," said Anderson, "that Sutton, by some miracle, had the knowledge to fix the ship. Even then, he would have needed materials."
"Plenty of them," said Clark.
"The Cygnians could have supplied him with them," Shulcross suggested.
"If there are any Cygnians," said Anderson.
"I don't believe they could," Blackburn declared. "A race that hides behind a screen would not be mechanical. If they knew mechanics, they would go out into space instead of shielding themselves from space. I'll make a guess the Cygnians are nonmechanical."
"But the screen," Anderson prompted.
"It wouldn't have to be mechanical," Blackburn said flatly.
Clark smacked his open palm on his knee. "What's the use of all this speculation? Sutton didn't repair that ship. He brought it back, somehow, without repair. He didn't even try to fix it. There are layers of rust on everything and there's not a wrench mark on it."
Shulcross leaned forward. "One thing I don't get," he said. "Clark says some of the ports were broken. That means Sutton navigated eleven light-years exposed to space."
"He used a suit," said Blackburn.
Clark said, quietly, "There weren't any suits."
He looked around the room, almost as if he feared someone outside the little circle might be listening.
He lowered his voice. "And that isn't all. There wasn't any food and there wasn't any water."
Anderson tapped out his pipe against the palm of his hand and the hollow sound of tapping echoed in the room. Carefully, deliberately, almost as if forcing himself to concentrate upon it, he dropped the ash from his hand into a tray.
"I might have the answer to that one," he said. "At least a clue. There's still a lot of work to
Adams nodded. "Sutton got through," he said.
"I don't like it," Clark declared. "I don't like a thing about it. Someone got a brainstorm. Our ships are too big, they said. If we used smaller ships, we might squeeze through. As if the thing that kept us off was a mesh or something."
"Sutton got through," said Adams, stubbornly. "They launched him in a lifeboat and he got through. His small ship got through where the big ones couldn't."
Clark shook his head, just as stubbornly. "It don't make sense," he said. "Smallness and bigness wouldn't have a thing to do with it. There's another factor somewhere, a factor we've never even thought of. Sutton got through all right and he crashed and if he was in the ship when it crashed, he died. But he didn't get through because his ship was small. It was for some other reason."
The men sat tense, thinking, waiting.
"Why Sutton?" Anderson asked, finally.
Adams answered quietly. "The ship was small. We could only send one man. We picked the man we thought could do the best job if he did get through."
"And Sutton was the best man?"
"He was," said Adams, crisply.
Anderson said amiably, "Well, apparently, he was. He got through."
"Or was let through," said Blackburn.
"Not necessarily," said Anderson.
"It follows," Blackburn contended. "Why did we want to get into the Cygnian system? To find out if it was dangerous. That was the idea, wasn't it?"
"That was the idea," Adams told him. "Anything unknown is potentially dangerous. You can't write it off until you are sure. These were Sutton's instructions: Find out if 61 is dangerous."
"And by the same token, they'd want to find out about us," Blackburn said. "We'd been prying and poking at them for several thousand years. They might have wanted to find out about us as badly as we did about them."
Anderson nodded. "I see what you mean. They'd chance one man, if they could haul him in, but they wouldn't let a full-armed ship and a full crew get within shooting distance."
"Exactly," said Blackburn.
Adams dismissed the line of talk abruptly, said to Clark, "You spoke of dents. Were they made recently?"
Clark shook his head. "Twenty years looks right to me. There is a lot of rust. Some of the wiring was getting pretty soft."
"Let us suppose, then," said Anderson, "that Sutton, by some miracle, had the knowledge to fix the ship. Even then, he would have needed materials."
"Plenty of them," said Clark.
"The Cygnians could have supplied him with them," Shulcross suggested.
"If there are any Cygnians," said Anderson.
"I don't believe they could," Blackburn declared. "A race that hides behind a screen would not be mechanical. If they knew mechanics, they would go out into space instead of shielding themselves from space. I'll make a guess the Cygnians are nonmechanical."
"But the screen," Anderson prompted.
"It wouldn't have to be mechanical," Blackburn said flatly.
Clark smacked his open palm on his knee. "What's the use of all this speculation? Sutton didn't repair that ship. He brought it back, somehow, without repair. He didn't even try to fix it. There are layers of rust on everything and there's not a wrench mark on it."
Shulcross leaned forward. "One thing I don't get," he said. "Clark says some of the ports were broken. That means Sutton navigated eleven light-years exposed to space."
"He used a suit," said Blackburn.
Clark said, quietly, "There weren't any suits."
He looked around the room, almost as if he feared someone outside the little circle might be listening.
He lowered his voice. "And that isn't all. There wasn't any food and there wasn't any water."
Anderson tapped out his pipe against the palm of his hand and the hollow sound of tapping echoed in the room. Carefully, deliberately, almost as if forcing himself to concentrate upon it, he dropped the ash from his hand into a tray.
"I might have the answer to that one," he said. "At least a clue. There's still a lot of work to
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