be a complaint fromthe colony. There were lifeboats aground on Xosa II, for emergencycommunication, and if a lifeboat didn't bring news of a planetarycrisis, no crisis would be considered to exist. Nobody could imagine alanding grid failing!
Maybe in a year somebody would think that maybe somebody ought to askaround about Xosa II. It would be much longer before somebody put a noteon somebody else's desk that would suggest that when, or if, a suitableship passed near Xosa II, or if one should be available for the inquiry,it might be worth while to have the noncommunication from the planetlooked into. Actually, to guess at three years before another shiparrived would be the most optimistic of estimates.
"You're a civilian," said Bordman shortly. "When the food and water runlow, you go back to the ship. You'll at least be alive when somebodydoes come to see what's the matter here!"
Aletha said mildly:
"Maybe I'd rather not be alive. Will you go back to the ship?"
Bordman flushed. He wouldn't. But he said doggedly;
"I can order you sent on board, and your cousin will carry out theorder!"
"I doubt it very much," said Aletha pleasantly.
She returned to her task.
* * * * *
There were crunching footsteps outside the hulk. Bordman winced alittle. With insulated sandals, it was normal for these colonists tomove from one part of the colony to another in the open, even bydaylight. He, Bordman, couldn't take out-of-doors at night! His lipstwisted bitterly.
Men came in. There were dark men with rippling muscles under glisteningskin, and bronze Amerinds with coarse straight hair. Ralph Redfeatherwas with them. Dr. Chuka came in last of all.
"Here we are," said Redfeather. "These are our foremen. Among us, Ithink we can answer any questions you want to ask."
He made introductions. Bordman didn't try to remember the names.Abeokuta and Northwind and Sutata and Tallgrass and T'ckka andSpottedhorse and Lewanika---- They were names which in combination wouldonly be found in a very raw, new colony. But the men who crowded intothe office were wholly at ease, in their own minds as well as in thepresence of a senior Colonial Survey officer. They nodded as they werenamed, and the nearest shook hands. Bordman knew that he'd have likedtheir looks under other circumstances. But he was humiliated by theconditions on this planet. They were not. They were apparently onlysentenced to death by them.
"I have to leave a report," said Bordman curtly--and he was somehowastonished to know that he did expect to leave a report rather than makeone; he accepted the hopelessness of the colony's future--"on thedegree-of-completion of the work here. But since there's an emergency, Ihave also to leave a report on the measures taken to meet it."
The report would be futile, of course. As futile as the coup-recordsAletha was compiling, which would be read only after everybody on theplanet was dead. But Bordman knew he'd write it. It was unthinkable thathe shouldn't.
"Redfeather tells me," he added, again curtly, "that the power instorage can be used to cool the colony buildings--and therefore condensedrinking water from the air--for just about six months. There is foodfor about six months. If one lets the buildings warm up a little, tostretch the fuel, there won't be enough water to drink. Go on halfrations to stretch the food, and there won't be enough water to last andthe power will give out anyhow. No profit there!"
There were nods. The matter had been thrashed out long before.
"There's food in the _Warlock_ overhead," Bordman went on coldly, "butthey can't use the landing boat more than a few times. It can't use shipfuel. No refrigeration to hold it stable. They couldn't land more than aton of supplies all told. There are five hundred of us here. No helpthere!"
He looked from one to another.
"So we live comfortably," he told them with irony, "until our food andwater and minimum night-comfort run out together. Anything we do to tryto stretch anything is useless because of what happens to somethingelse. Redfeather tells me you accept the situation. What are youdoing--since you accept it?"
Dr. Chuka said amiably:
"We've picked a storage place for our records, and our miners areblasting out space in which to put away the record of our actions to thelast possible moment. It will be sandproof. Our mechanics are building abroadcast unit we'll spare a tiny bit of fuel for. It will runtwenty-odd years, broadcasting directions so it can be found regardlessof how the terrain is changed by drifting sand."
"And," said Bordman, "the fact that nobody will be here to givedirections."
Chuka added benignly:
"We're doing a great deal of singing, too. My people are ... ah ...religious. When we are ... ah ... no longer here ... there have beenboastings that there'll be a well-practiced choir ready to go to work inthe next world."
White teeth showed in grins. Bordman was almost envious of men who couldgrin at such a thought. But he went on grimly:
"And I understand that athletics have also been much practiced."
Redfeather said:
"There's been time for it. Climbing teams have counted coup on all theworst mountains within three hundred miles. There's been a new recordset for the javelin, adjusted for gravity constant, and Johnny Cornstalkdid a hundred yards in eight point four seconds. Aletha has the recordsand has certified them."
"Very useful!" said Bordman sardonically. Then he disliked himself forsaying it even before the bronze-skinned men's faces grew studiedlyimpassive.
Chuka waved his hand.
"Wait, Ralph! Lewanika's nephew will beat that within a week!"
Bordman was ashamed again because Chuka had spoken to cover up his ownill-nature.
"I take it back!" he said irritably. "What I said was uncalled for. Ishouldn't have said it! But I came here to do a completion survey andwhat you've been giving me is material for an estimate of morale! It'snot my line! I'm a technician, first and foremost! We're faced with atechnical problem!"
Aletha spoke suddenly from behind him.
"But these are men, first and foremost, Mr. Bordman. And they're facedwith a very human problem--how to die well. They seem to be rather goodat it, so far."
Bordman ground his teeth. He was again humiliated. In his own fashion hewas attempting the same thing. But just as he was genetically notqualified to endure the climate of this planet, he was not prepared fora fatalistic or pious acceptance of disaster. Amerind and African,alike, these men instinctively held to their own ideas of what thedignity of a man called upon him to do when he could not do anything butdie. But Bordman's idea of his human dignity required him to be stillfighting: still scratching at the eyes of fate or destiny when he wasslain. It was in his blood or genes or the result of training. He simplycould not, with self-respect, accept any physical situation as hopelesseven when his mind assured him that it was.
* * * * *
"I agree," he said coldly, "but still I have to think in technicalterms. You might say that we are going to die because we cannot land the_Warlock_ with food and equipment. We cannot land the _Warlock_ becausewe have no landing grid. We have no landing grid because it and all thematerial to complete it is buried under millions of tons of sand. Wecannot make a new light-supply-ship type of landing grid because we haveno smelter to make beams, nor power to run it if we had, yet if we hadthe beams we could get the power to run the smelter we haven't got tomake the beams. And we have no smelter, hence no beams, no power, noprospect of food or help because we can't land the _Warlock_. It isstrictly a circular problem. Break it at any point and all of it issolved."
One of the dark men muttered something under his breath to those nearhim. There were chuckles.
"Like Mr. Woodchuck," explained the man, when Bordman's eyes fell onhim. "When I was a little boy there was a story like that."
Bordman said icily:
"The problem of coolness and water and food is the same sort of problem.In six months we could raise food--if we had power to condensemoisture. We've chemicals for hydroponics--if we could k
eep the plantsfrom roasting as they grew. Refrigeration and water and food arepractically another circular problem."
Aletha said tentatively:
"Mr. Bordman----"
He turned, annoyed. Aletha said almost apologetically:
"On Chagan there was a--you might call it a woman's coup given to awoman I know. Her husband raises horses. He's mad about them. And theylive in a sort of home on caterwheels out on the plains--the llanos.Sometimes they're months away from a settlement. And she loves ice creamand refrigeration isn't too simple. But she has a Doctorate in HumanHistory. So she had her husband make an insulated tray on the roof oftheir trailer and she makes her
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