"Well ... Jason ... he says there isn't much left to see. And it's all
radioactive and diseased."
"Nonsense."
"But Jason says...."
Tom snorted. "Jason hasn't been out of the settlement for six years.
I walked from Chicago to the settlement a year ago. I went through
a dozen cities ... they're wrecked, and the radioactivity count was
higher than it is here at the settlement, but it's not high enough to
be dangerous."
"And you want to explore those cities; why?"
"Let's just say I'm a historian," Tom answered while his hands
manipulated complex wiring unconsciously, as though they belonged not
to him but to some unseen puppeteer.
"I don't understand," Ruth said.
"Look--those cities hold mankind's memory. I want to gather up the
fragments of civilization before the last book is used for kindling and
the last machine turns to rust. We need the knowledge in the cities if
we expect to rebuild a civilization...."
"But Jason and Dr. Arnoldsson and the engineers--they know all
about...."
"Jason and the engineers," Tom snapped. "They had to stretch themselves
to the breaking point to put together this rocket from parts that were
already manufactured, waiting for them. Do you think they'd know how to
build a city? Dr. Arnoldsson is a psychiatrist; his efforts at surgery
are pathetic. Have you ever seen him try to set a broken leg? And what
about agriculture? What about tool-making or mining or digging wells,
even ... what about education? How many kids your own age can read or
write?"
"But the satellite...."
"The satellite won't be of any use to people who can't work the
machines. The satellite is no substitute for knowledge. Unless
something is done, your grandchildren will be worshipping the machines,
but they won't know how to repair them."
"No...."
"Yes, Ruth," he insisted.
"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the static-streaked
hum in his earphones. "You're wrong, Tom. You're wrong. The satellite
will send us the power we need. Then we'll build our machines and teach
our children."
_How can you teach what you don't know?_ Tom wanted to ask, but didn't.
He worked without talking, hauling the weightless tons of satellite
packages into position, electronically welding them together, splicing
wiring systems too intricate for his conscious mind to understand.
* * * * *
Twice he pulled himself back along the lifeline into the ship for
capsule meals and stimulants.
Finally he found himself staring at his gloved hands moving
industriously within the bowels of one of the satellite packages. He
stopped, suddenly aware that it was piercingly cold and totally dark
except for the lamp on his helmet.
He pushed away from the unfinished satellite. Two of the packages were
assembled now. The big parabolic mirror and two other uncrated units
hung nearby, waiting impassively.
Tom groped his way back into the ship. After taking off his helmet and
swallowing a couple of energy pills he said to the ship's radio:
"What time is it?" The abrupt sound of his own voice half-startled him.
"Nearly four a.m." It was Jason.
"Earth's blotted out the sun," Tom muttered. "Getting damned cold in
here."
"You're in the ship?"
"Yes. It got too cold for the suit."
"Turn up the ship's heaters," Jason said. "What's the temperature in
there?"
Tom glanced at the thermometer as he twisted the thermostat dial as far
as it would go. "Forty-nine," he answered.
He could sense Jason nod. "The heaters are on minimum power
automatically unless you turn them up. It'll warm you up in a few
seconds. How's the satellite?"
Tom told him what remained to be done.
"You're not even half through yet." Jason's voice grew fainter and Tom
knew that he was doing some mental arithmetic as he thought out loud.
"You've been up about twenty hours; at the rate you're going you'll
need another twenty-four to finish the job. That will bring you very
close to your oxygen limit."
Tom sat impassively and stared at the gray metal and colored knobs of
the radio.
"Is everything going all right?" Jason asked.
"How should I know? Ask Arnoldsson."
"He's asleep. They all are."
"Except you."
"That's right," Jason said, "except me."
"How long did Ruth stay on the radio?"
"About sixteen hours. I ordered her to sleep a few hours ago."
"You're pretty good at giving orders," Tom said.
"Someone has to."
"Yeah." Tom ran a hand across his mouth. _Boy, could I use a cigarette.
Funny, I haven't even thought about them in years._
* * * * *
"Look," he said to the radio, "we might as well settle something right
now. How many men are you going to let me have?"
"Don't you think you'd better save that for now and get back to work?"
"It's too damned cold out there. My fingers are still numb. You could
have done a better job on insulating this suit."
"There are a lot of things we could have done," Jason said, "if we had
the material."
"How about the expedition? How many men can I have?"
"As many as you can get," the radio voice answered. "I promised I won't
stand in your way once the satellite is finished and operating."
"Won't stand in my way," Tom repeated. "That means you won't encourage
anyone, either."
Jason's voice rose a trifle. "I can't encourage my people to go out and
risk their lives just because you want to poke around some radioactive
slag heaps!"
"You promised that if I put the satellite together and got back alive,
I could investigate the cities. That was our deal."
"That's right. You can. And anyone foolish enough to accompany you can
follow along."
"Jason, you know I need at least twenty-five armed men to venture out
of the settlement...."
"Then you admit it's dangerous!" the radio voice crackled.
"Sure, if we meet a robber band. You've sent out enough foraging groups
to know that. And we'll be travelling hundreds of miles. But it's not
dangerous for the reasons you've been circulating ... radioactivity and
disease germs and that nonsense. There's no danger that one of your own
foraging groups couldn't handle. I came through the cities last year
alone, and I made it."
* * * * *
Tom waited for a reply from the radio, but only the hissing and
crackling of electrical disturbances answered him.
"Jason, those cities hold what's left of a world-wide civilization. We
can't begin to rebuild unless we reopen that knowledge. We need it, we
need it desperately!"
"It's either destroyed or radioactive, and to think anything else is
self-delusion. Besides, we have enough intelligence right here at the
settlement to build a new civilization, better than the old one, once
the satellite is ready."
"But you don't!" Tom shouted. "You poor damned fool, you don't even
realize how much you don't know."
"This is a waste of time," Jason snapped. "Get outside and finish your
work."
"I'm still cold, dammit," Tom said. He glanced at the thermometer on
the control console. "Jason! _It's below freezing in here!_"
"What?"
"The heating unit isn't working at all!"
"Impossible. You must have turned it off instead of on."
"I can read, dammit! It's turned as high as it'll go...."
"What's the internal thermometer reading?"