It was cool on the veranda, though outside, an alien sun beat down on the smooth expanse of runway, a narrow platform, less than a mile in length--the only flat stretch of land on the planet. Along the far edge, mountains, bathed in sunlight, rose in barren splendor, their sharp peaks reaching for the sky, while, on each remaining side, the ground dropped sheer away, to reform itself in twisting valleys thousands of feet below. The house, two stories of prefabricated metal, stood perched on one of the outer corners. Opposite, packed tightly against the rock face, the emergency hangar rose in a gentle curve--a sheen of aluminum in contrast with the purple background of rejuvenite. Between them, the launching ramp stretched lengthwise down the runway, inclining steeply for the first fifty feet, then leveling out so that the cruel blast of the takeoff would be dispersed harmlessly over the edge of the precipice. A few small store sheds were the only other signs of habitation. It was too hot to do anything constructive. They relaxed in their deck-chairs, grateful for the way in which the fans moved the monotonous heat into unexpected currents of warm air. Walter Pellinger looked upward expectantly, a sudden movement that caused the little beads of perspiration on his head to run together and course down his neck in a steady stream. He ran a handkerchief around the inside of his collar. "What's the time?" he asked. "Quarter past ten," said Tarsh. "All right, Jason, you've had your fun. Now perhaps you'll consult the right dial. We'd all like to know." "I can never get used to these five-hour days," said Gillian Murray. "It makes one feel so restless." Curtis Delman frowned in mock reproof. The lawyer was in his prime, the natural strength of his features enhanced by the iron-gray hair and powerful physique. "Really, Gillian," he said, "you ought to be thankful it's summer. At least, you've got three hours of daylight." "Well, I can't understand it," said John Bridge. "We've been here sixty Earth days and the sun always sets at the same time." "Nonsense," Delman replied. "It's been later each day. Though not much, I grant you. Remember, summer still has nine years to run." "Will someone please tell me the time?" said Walter Pellinger. Jason Tarsh regarded him with approval. "That's much better. It's two o'clock." * * * * * Of the five of them, John Bridge and Jason Tarsh were the least changed. True, that 'lucky fool,' as Walter Pellinger called Bridge, had lost a good deal of weight and his face was not quite so full as it had been, but it was the same John Bridge who had climbed on board at Jupiter. The change in Jason Tarsh was even less marked. Time had ironed out a few creases here and there, and his back was straighter. But, apart from that, he looked the same at fifty as he had at a hundred--gaunt, resilient and merciless.