Chapter II

The long ship hung in orbit above Miracastle and discharged its passengers. The Scout Ball could handle them: saving energy, which along with time itself, is the ultimate precious commodity of the universe governed by the laws of entropy.

The Scout Ball settled through the dark turbulence undisturbed by the hissing winds. It hovered momentarily in the invisible beacon above the Richardson dome as if both attracted and repelled. It moved horizontally and settled. Suited figures on the surface wrestled with its flexible exit-tube against the storm, fighting to couple it to the lock of the Richardson dome. The exit-tube moved rhythmically until the Scout Ball inched away, drawing it taut. Pumps whirred. The suited figures entered the forward lock of the Scout Ball.

Inside, General Shorter divested himself of the helmet. The suit hung upon him like ancient, wrinkled skin.

He asked, “What time is it?”

Upon being told, he nodded with satisfaction. “Seventeen minutes, total. Good job. Who’s in charge?”

“A Mr. Tucker, sir.”

“Tucker? Jim Tucker, by any chance?”

“Yes, sir.”

General Shorter grunted. “Served with him once. He’s probably forgotten ... That’s all right. I’ll keep the suit on.”

“I don’t think they’re expecting you with the surface party, General.”

“Probably not or they’d be here. Earth crew?”

“They’ve been out ten months or so, sir.”

“We will have colds, then. Would you take me to Mr. Tucker, please?” To the other suited men he said, “Good, fast job.”

General Shorter followed the crewman up the spiral staircase and along the corridor. His hand touched a frictionless wall. “New plastic?”

“This is one of the most recent balls, sir.”

“How does it handle?”

“Quite well, sir.”

“I miss the Model Ten,” he said.

“There’s only a few left now, I guess.”

“I haven’t seen one in years.”

The crewman stopped before a numberless panel. He knocked politely. “Mr. Tucker? I have General Shorter here. He came out with the surface party.”

Mr. Tucker’s voice, the edge of surprise partly lost through the partition, came: “Just a moment.”

In silence they waited. General Shorter moved restlessly. Several minutes passed.

The panel opened.

Mr. Tucker was a short, rotund man. His close-cropped hair was graying, although his face was unlined, with the smooth complexion of a child. His irises were gray and gold.

General Shorter stepped forward and introduced himself.

“Come in.”

The panel closed.

The two men stood. General Shorter glanced around for a chair.

“Small quarters,” Mr. Tucker said. “If you like, sit there. I’ll sit on the bed.”

They arranged themselves.

“Perhaps you don’t remember me?” the general said. “We served together--what, ten years ago?--for about two weeks on Avalon, I believe it was.”

“Yes, I thought that was the case. You have a good memory, General.”

“Please,” the general said, “just call me Max.”

Mr. Tucker considered, without committing himself. He proffered a cigar. The general declined.

Mr. Tucker lighted the cigar carefully, moving the flame several times across the blunt end. He regarded the results without expression. “A cigar should be properly lit, General,” he said.

“Yes, yes, I suppose so,” the general said. He paused to worry at a wrinkle on his suit. “Good trip out?”

“Routine.”

“New ship? I notice this is one of the new Balls.”

“Mark Six.”

“Ah, those. I’ve always liked the Mark Six. Solid construction. I’ve been Destroyed maybe half the time in the Mark Sixes. Each one of the Marks has its own personality--I’ve always thought so. I don’t suppose you remember the old Mark Two? That was a long time ago. I’ve been around. We got lost in one once. It picked a pseudo-fault line and ... well, never mind. Earth the same, I guess?”

“Hasn’t changed.”

“I don’t know when I’ll get back,” the general said. The statement seemed to dangle as though it were an unfinished question.

“The new detectors have put Miracastle on the fringe of things.”

“I’ve followed the work,” the general said. “I try to keep up. It involves a new concept of mass variation, doesn’t it?”

“It just about makes it uneconomical to colonize a two-stage planet any more. Or to keep one going.”

The general’s eyelids flickered. His body moved beneath the wrinkled folds of the surface suit. Cigar smoke curled in the still air.

Mr. Tucker said, “You must have been aware that it would not have been a great loss to have evacuated Miracastle.”

The general shuffled in silence. “Yes, sir, I knew the background. It’s part of my job to know things like that. You’ll find, sir, that I have a strong sense of responsibility. If it’s part of my job, I’ll know about it.”