The bridge room was still intact, though the multiple thickness of
glassite in the big ports showed patterns of spidery cracks. Trevor
examined the controls. He was strictly a planetary spacer, used to
flying his small craft within spitting distance of the world he was
prospecting, and there were a few gadgets here he didn't understand,
but he could figure the board well enough.
"Not far, Trevor. Only over the mountains. I know from your mind--and
I remember from the minds of those who died after the landing--that
beyond the mountain wall there is a plain of dead rock, more than a
hundred of your reckoning in miles, and then another ridge that seems
solid but is not, and beyond that pass there is a fertile valley twenty
times bigger than Korith, where Earthmen live."
"Only partly fertile, and the mines that brought the Earthmen are
pretty well worked out. But a few ships still land there, and a few
Earthmen still hang on."
"That is best. A small place, to begin...."
"To begin what?"
"Who can tell? You don't understand, Trevor. For centuries I have known
exactly what I would do. There is a kind of rebirth in not knowing."
Trevor shivered and went back to studying the controls. The wiring,
protected by layers of imperviplast insulation and conduit, seemed to
be in fair shape. The generator room below had been knocked about, but
not too badly. There were spare batteries. Corroded, yes, but if they
were charged, they could hold for a while.
"Will it fly?"
"I told you I don't know yet. It would take a lot of work."
"There are many slaves to do this work."
"Yes. But without fuel it's all useless."
"See if there is fuel."
The outlines of that hidden thing in Trevor's secret mind were
coming clearer now. He didn't want to see them out in the full light
where Shannach could see them too. He thought hard about generators,
batteries, and the hooking up of leads.
He crept among the dark bowels of the dead ship, working toward the
stern. The torch made a red and smoky glare that lit up deserted
wardrooms and plundered holds. One large compartment had a heavy barred
and bolted door that had bent like tin in the crash. "That's where they
came from," Trevor thought, "like wolves out of a trap."
In the lower holds that had taken the worst of the impact were
quantities of mining equipment and farm machinery, all smashed beyond
use but formidable-looking none the less, with rusty blades and teeth
and queer hulking shapes. They made him think of weapons, and he let
the thought grow, adorning it with pictures of men going down under
whirring reapers. Shannach caught it.
"Weapons?"
"They could be used as such. But the metal in them would repair the
hull."
He found the fuel bunkers. The main supply was used to the last grain
of fissionable dust, but the emergency bunkers still showed some
content on the mechanical gauges. Not much, but enough.