"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?" Tom looked. "Barely thirty ... and it's still going down." "Hold on, I'll wake Arnoldsson and the electrical engineers." Silence. Tom stared at the inanimate radio which gave off only the whines and scratches of lightning and sun and stars, all far distant from him. For all his senses could tell him, he was the last living thing in the universe.