Martin thought of the dark, convoluted land outside the city. If they wouldn't grow there.... Or had they, once? "Don't, Wass!" Torchlight reflected from Wass' faceplate as he turned his head. "Why not?" They were like children.... "We don't know, released, what they'll do." "Skipper," Wass said carefully, "if we don't get out of this place by the deadline we may be eating these." Martin raised his arm tensely. "Opening a seed bank doesn't help us find a way out of here." He started up the ramp. "Besides, we've no water." Rodney came last up the ramp, less jaunty now, but still holding the gun. His mind, too, was taken up with childhood's imaginings. "For a plant to grow in this environment, it wouldn't need much water. Maybe--" he had a vision of evil plants attacking them, growing with super-swiftness at the air valves and joints of their suits "--only the little moisture in the atmosphere." * * * * * They stood before the switchboard again. Martin and Wass side by side, Rodney, still holding his gun, slightly to the rear. Rodney moved forward a little toward the switches. His breathing was loud and rather uneven in the radio receivers. Martin made a final effort. "Rodney, it's still almost nine hours to take off. Let's search awhile first. Let this be a last resort." Rodney jerked his head negatively. "No. Now, I know you, Martin. Postpone and postpone until it's too late, and the ship leaves without us and we're stranded here to eat seeds and gradually dehydrate ourselves and God only knows what else and--" He reached out convulsively and yanked a switch. Martin leaped, knocking him to the floor. Rodney's gun skittered away silently, like a live thing, out of the range of the torches. The radio receivers impersonally recorded the grating sounds of Rodney's sobs. "Sorry," Martin said, without feeling. He turned quickly. "Wass?" The slight, blond man stood unmoving. "I'm with you, Martin, but, as a last resort it might be better to be blown sky high than to die gradually--" Martin was watching Rodney, struggling to get up. "I agree. As a last resort. We still have a little time." Rodney's tall, spare figure looked bowed and tired in the torchlight, now that he was up again. "Martin, I--" Martin turned his back. "Skip it, Rodney," he said gently. "Water," Wass said thoughtfully. "There must be reservoirs under this city somewhere." Rodney said, "How does water help us get out?" Martin glanced at Wass, then started out of the switchboard room, not looking back. "It got in and out of the city some way. Perhaps we can leave the same way." Down the ramp again. "There's another ramp," Wass murmured. Rodney looked down it. "I wonder how many there are, all told." Martin placed one foot on the metal incline. He angled his torch down, picking out shadowy, geometrical shapes, duplicates of the ones on the present level. "We'll find out," he said, "how many there are."