They could eat a horse, only luckily there was none ... it
might have eaten them first!
* * * * *
Hellman plucked the last radish out of the can with a pair of
dividers. He held it up for Casker to admire, then laid it carefully
on the workbench beside the razor.
"Hell of a meal for two grown men," Casker said, flopping down in one
of the ship's padded crash chairs.
"If you'd like to give up your share--" Hellman started to suggest.
Casker shook his head quickly. Hellman smiled, picked up the razor and
examined its edge critically.
"Don't make a production out of it," Casker said, glancing at the
ship's instruments. They were approaching a red dwarf, the only
planet-bearing sun in the vicinity. "We want to be through with supper
before we get much closer."
Hellman made a practice incision in the radish, squinting along the
top of the razor. Casker bent closer, his mouth open. Hellman poised
the razor delicately and cut the radish cleanly in half.
"Will you say grace?" Hellman asked.
Casker growled something and popped a half in his mouth. Hellman
chewed more slowly. The sharp taste seemed to explode along his
disused tastebuds.
"Not much bulk value," Hellman said.
Casker didn't answer. He was busily studying the red dwarf.
* * * * *
As he swallowed the last of his radish, Hellman stifled a sigh. Their
last meal had been three days ago ... if two biscuits and a cup of
water could be called a meal. This radish, now resting in the vast
emptiness of their stomachs, was the last gram of food on board ship.
"Two planets," Casker said. "One's burned to a crisp."
"Then we'll land on the other."
Casker nodded and punched a deceleration spiral into the ship's tape.
Hellman found himself wondering for the hundredth time where the fault
had been. Could he have made out the food requisitions wrong, when
they took on supplies at Calao station? After all, he had been
devoting most of his attention to the mining equipment. Or had the
ground crew just forgotten to load those last precious cases?
He drew his belt in to the fourth new notch he had punched.
Speculation was useless. Whatever the reason, they were in a jam.
Ironically enough, they had more than enough fuel to take them back to
Calao. But they would be a pair of singularly emaciated corpses by the
time the ship reached there.
"We're coming in now," Casker said.
And to make matters worse, this unexplored region of space had few
suns and fewer planets. Perhaps there was a slight possibility of
replenishing their water supply, but the odds were enormous against
finding anything they could eat.
"Look at that place," Casker growled.
Hellman shook himself out of his reverie.
The planet was like a round gray-brown porcupine. The spines of a
million needle-sharp mountains glittered in the red dwarf's feeble
light. And as they spiraled lower, circling the planet, the pointed
mountains seemed to stretch out to meet them.
"It can't be _all_ mountains," Hellman said.
"It's not."
Sure enough, there were oceans and lakes, out of which thrust jagged
island-mountains. But no sign of level land, no hint of civilization,
or even animal life.
"At least it's got an oxygen atmosphere," Casker said.
Their deceleration spiral swept them around the planet, cutting lower
into the atmosphere, braking against it. And still there was nothing
but mountains and lakes and oceans and more mountains.
On the eighth run, Hellman caught sight of a solitary building on a
mountain top. Casker braked recklessly, and the hull glowed red hot.
On the eleventh run, they made a landing approach.
"Stupid place to build," Casker muttered.
The building was doughnut-shaped, and fitted nicely over the top of
the mountain. There was a wide, level lip around it, which Casker
scorched as he landed the ship.
* * * * *
From the air, the building had merely seemed big. On the ground, it
was enormous. Hellman and Casker walked up to it slowly. Hellman had
his burner ready, but there was no sign of life.
"This planet must be abandoned," Hellman said almost in a whisper.
"Anyone in his right mind would abandon this place," Casker said.
"There're enough good planets around, without anyone trying to live on
a needle point."
They reached the door. Hellman tried to open it and found it locked.
He looked back at the spectacular display of mountains.
"You know," he said, "when this planet was still in a molten state, it
must have been affected by several gigantic moons that are now broken
up. The strains, external and internal, wrenched it into its present
spined appearance and--"
"Come off it," Casker said ungraciously. "You were a librarian before
you decided to get rich on uranium."
Hellman shrugged his shoulders and burned a hole in the doorlock. They
waited.
The only sound on the mountain top was the growling of their stomachs.
They entered.
The tremendous wedge-shaped room was evidently a warehouse of sorts.
Goods were piled to the ceiling, scattered over the floor, stacked
haphazardly against the walls. There were boxes and containers of all
sizes and shapes, some big enough to hold an elephant, others the size
of thimbles.
Near the door was a dusty pile of books. Immediately, Hellman bent
down to examine them.
"Must be food somewhere in here," Casker said, his face lighting up
for the first time in a week. He started to open the nearest box.
[Illustration]
"This is interesting," Hellman said, discarding all the books except
one.
"Let's eat first," Casker said, ripping the top off the box. Inside
was a brownish dust. Casker looked at it, sniffed, and made a face.
"Very interesting indeed," Hellman said, leafing through the book.
Casker opened a small can, which contained a glittering green slime.
He closed it and opened another. It contained a dull orange slime.
"Hmm," Hellman said, still reading.
"Hellman! Will you kindly drop that book and help me find some food?"
"Food?" Hellman repeated, looking up. "What makes you think there's
anything to eat here? For all you know, this could be a paint
factory."
"It's a warehouse!" Casker shouted.
He opened a kidney-shaped can and lifted out a soft purple stick. It
hardened quickly and crumpled to dust as he tried to smell it. He
scooped up a handful of the dust and brought it to his mouth.
"That might be extract of strychnine," Hellman said casually.
* * * * *
Casker abruptly dropped the dust and wiped his hands.
"After all," Hellman pointed out, "granted that this is a warehouse--a
cache, if you wish--we don't know what the late inhabitants considered
good fare. Paris green salad, perhaps, with sulphuric acid as
dressing."
"All right," Casker said, "but we gotta eat. What're you going to do
about all this?" He gestured at the hundreds of boxes, cans and
bottles.
"The thing to do," Hellman said briskly, "is to make a qualitative
analysis on four or five samples. We could start out with a simple
titration, sublimate the chief ingredient, see if it forms a
precipitate, work out its molecular makeup from--"
"Hellman, you don't know what you're talking about. You're a
librarian, remember? And I'm a correspondence school pilot. We don't
know anything about titrations and sublimations."
"I know," Hellman said, "but we should. It's the right way to go about
it."
"Sure. In the meantime, though, just until a chemist drops in, what'll
we do?"
"This might help us," Hellman said, holding up the book. "Do you know
what it is?"
"No," Casker said, keeping a tight grip on his patience.
"It's a pocket dictionary and guide to the Helg language."
"Helg?"
"The planet we're on. The symbols match up with those on the boxes."