happened, then surely rescue would follow. The human race would not let them die, once it had discovered them alive.
But this was wishful thinking, not logic. Hundreds of times in the past, men and women had been trapped as they were now, and all the resources of great nations had been unable to save them. There were the miners behind rockfalls, sailors in sunken submarines—and, above all, astronauts in ships on wild orbits, beyond possibility of interception. Often they had been able to talk freely with their friends and relatives until the very end. That had happened only two years ago, when Cassiopeia's main drive had jammed, and all her energies had been poured into hurling her away from the sun. She was out there now, heading toward Canopus , on one of the most precisely measured orbits of any space vehicle. The astronomers would be able to pinpoint her to within a few thousand kilometers for the next million years. That must have been a great consolation to her crew, now in a tomb more permanent than any Pharaoh's.
Pat tore his mind away from this singularly profitless reverie. Their luck had not yet run out, and to anticipate disaster might be to invite it.
“Let's hurry up and finish this inventory. I want to hear how Nell is making out with Sir Isaac.”
That was a much more pleasant train of thought, especially when you were standing so close to a very attractive and scantily dressed girl. In a situation like this, thought Pat, women had one great advantage over men. Sue still looked fairly smart, despite the fact that nothing much was left of her uniform in this tropical heat. But he, like all the men aboard Selene, felt scratchily uncomfortable with his three days' growth of beard, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Sue did not seem to mind the stubble, though, when he abandoned the pretense of work and moved up so close that his bristles rubbed against her cheek. On the other hand, she did not show any enthusiasm. She merely stood there, in front of the half-empty locker, as if she had expected this and was not in the least surprised. It was a disconcerting reaction, and after a few seconds Pat drew away.
“I suppose you think I'm an unscrupulous wolf,” he said, “trying to take advantage of you like this.”
“Not particularly,” Sue answered. She gave a rather tired laugh. “It makes me glad to know that I'm not slipping. No girl ever minds a man starting to make approaches. It's when he won't stop that she gets annoyed.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“We're not in love, Pat. To me, that's rather important. Even now.”
“Would it still be important if you knew we won't get out of this?”
Her forehead wrinkled in concentration.
“I'm not sure—but you said yourself we've got to assume that they'll find us. If we don't, then we might as well give up right away.”
“Sorry,” said Pat. “I don't want you under those terms. I like you too much, for one thing.”
“I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always enjoyed working with you—there were plenty of other jobs I could have transferred to.”
“Bad luck for you,” Pat answered, “that you didn't.” His brief gust of desire, triggered by proximity, solitude, scanty clothing, and sheer emotional strain, had already evaporated.
“Now you're being pessimistic again,” said Sue. “You know, that's your big trouble. You let things get you down. And you won't assert yourself; anyone can push you around.”
Pat looked at her with more surprise than annoyance.
“I'd no idea,” he said, “that you'd been busy psyching me.”
“I haven't. But if you're interested in someone, and work with him, how can you help learning about him?”
“Well, I don't believe that people push me around.”
“No? Who's running this ship now?”
“If you mean the Commodore, that's different. He's a thousand times better qualified to take charge than I am. And he's been absolutely correct about it—he's asked my permission all along the line.”
“He doesn't bother now. Anyway, that's not the whole point. Aren't you glad he's taken over?”
Pat thought about this for several seconds. Then he looked at Sue with grudging respect.
“Maybe you're right. I've never cared to throw my weight about, or assert my authority—if I have any. I guess that's why I'm driver of a Moon bus, not skipper of a space liner. It's a little late to do anything about it now.”
“You're not thirty yet.”
“Thank you for those kind words. I'm thirty-two. We Harrises retain our youthful good looks well into old age. It's usually all we have left by then.”
“Thirty-two—and no steady girl friend?”
Ha! thought Pat, there are several things you don't know about me. But there was no point in mentioning Clarissa and her little apartment in Copernicus City , which now seemed so far away. (And how upset is Clarissa right now? he wondered. Which of the boys is busy consoling her? Perhaps Sue is right, after all. I don't have a steady girl friend. I haven't had one since Yvonne, and that was five years ago. No, my God-seven years ago.)
“I believe there's safety in numbers,” he said. “One of these days I'll settle down.”
“Perhaps you'll still be saying that when you're forty—or fifty. There are so many spacemen like that. They haven't settled down when it's time to retire, and then it's too late. Look at the Commodore, for example.”
“What about him? I'm beginning to get a little tired of the subject.”
“He's spent all his life in space. He has no family, no children. Earth can't mean much to him—he's spent so little rime there. He must have felt quite lost when he reached the age limit. This accident has been a godsend to him; he's really enjoying himself now.”
“Good for him; he deserves it. I'll be happy if I've done a tenth as much as he has when I've reached his age—which doesn't seem very likely at the moment.”
Pat became aware that he was still holding the inventory sheets; he had forgotten all about them. They were a reminder of their dwindling resources, and he looked at them with distaste.
“Back to work,” he said. “We have to think of the passengers.”
“If we stay here much longer,” replied Sue, “the passengers will start thinking of us.”
She spoke more truthfully than she had guessed.
CHAPTER 12
Dr. Lawson's silence, the Chief Engineer decided, had gone on long enough. It was high time to resume communication.
“Everything all right, Doctor?” he asked in his friendliest voice.
There was a short, angry bark, but the anger was directed at the Universe, not at him.
“It won't work,” Lawson answered bitterly. “The heat image is too confused. There are dozens of hot spots, not just the one I was expecting.”
“Stop your ski. I'll come over and have a look.”
Duster Two slid to a halt; Duster One eased up beside it until the two vehicles were almost touching. Moving with surprising ease despite the encumbrance of his space suit, Lawrence swung himself from one to the other and stood, gripping the supports of the overhead canopy, behind Lawson. He peered over the astronomer's shoulder at the image on the infrared converter.
“I see what you mean; it's a mess. But why was it uniform when you took your photos?”
“It must be a sunrise effect. The Sea's warming up, and for some reason it's not heating at the same rate everywhere.”
“Perhaps we can still make sense out of the pattern. I notice that there are some fairly clear areas—there must be an explanation for them. If we understood what's happening, it might help.”
Tom Lawson stirred himself with a great effort. The brittle shell of his self-confidence had been shattered by this unexpected setback, and he was very tired. He had had little sleep in the last two days, he had been hurried
