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Their next asteroids were mere chips a foot long core fragments of the planet, heavy metals that had sunk deep. No crust material of any normally formed world could ever show such wealth. It gleamed with a pale yellow shine, and made Ramos' sunken eyes light up with an ancient fever, until he remembered, and until Nelsen said: "Not for the gold, anymore, pal. Common, out here.
He wondered if this was the beginning of the end... Frank Nelsen missed the first shambles at Pallastown, of course, since even at high speed, the rescue unit with which he came did not arrive until days after the catastrophe. There had been hardly any warning, since the first attack had sprung from the sub-levels of the city itself.
And I got to think about my mother and dad." "Uh-huh other people could be having minor second thoughts including me," Frank Nelsen growled. "You don't get what I mean, Frank. Sure I'm scared some but I'm gonna try to go. Well, here's my point. I'm strong, willing, not too clumsy. But I'm no good at figuring what to do.
On a greater scale, it was almost nothing more than the first task that Nelsen had ever performed in space the jockying of a bubb from its blastoff drum, inflating it, rigging it, spinning it for centrifugal gravity, and fitting in its internal appointments. Nelsen looked at the fifty-odd stellene rings that they had broken out of their containers the others, still packed, were held in reserve.
And I'm take my bubb along, the same as the other ninety or so guys who are left from Parnay's crowd. I've got to look good with them... Cheers, you slobs. See you around..." Afterwards, Joe growled, "Hell what do you know! Him...! Special Police. Undercover. U.N., U.S., or what?" "Shut up," Nelsen growled.
"I promised myself I'd get you good, Tiflin! Now tell us what else you and your friends are cooking for us, or by the Big Silence, you'll be a drifting, explosively decompressed mummy!" Frank Nelsen didn't know till now, after exerting himself, how weak privations had made him. He felt dizzy. Tiflin's eyes had glazed slightly, as he and Frank did a slow roll, together. He gasped.
"Did you get a letter, too, Frank?" Ramos asked. For close communication, the old helmet-phones still worked okay. "I did," Nelsen breathed. "Why didn't they just knock us off? Alive, we might tell on them." "Not slow and funny enough, maybe," Ramos answered dolefully. "In these broken-down outfits, we might not live to tell.
That was how Frank Nelsen happened to face J. John Reynolds, who, in a question of progress, would still approve of galley slaves. Nelsen had heard jokes like that laughed about, around Jarviston. J. John, by reputation, was all hard business. Nelsen got past his secretary. "Young man I hope you have something very special to say."
There was another series of deflecting flashes from the defense batteries. Two more domes vanished... Then somehow nothing more. Evidently some of the attackers had been only half hearted, this time. Reprieve... Almost four hundred people were dead. It could have been the whole Town. Then spreading disaster. All Nelsen's friends were okay. The Posts called in okay, too. Nelsen waited three days.
In the excitement of a hunt, as if for ancient treasure, for a long time, through many ten hour shifts, Frank Nelsen found a perhaps unfortunate Lethe of forgetfulness for his worries, and for the mind-poisoning effects of the silence and desolation in this remote part of the Moon. They found things, thinly scattered in the ten acre area that Rodan meant tediously to sift.
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