"Who knows? If they'd had time to develop space travel they might have saved themselves. Then again, with a technology like yours, they might have blown themselves up long before the natural catastrophe ..." "What do you mean like _yours_?" the tall man said. "You mean like _ours_, don't you?" But Martin Devere turned away without answering. * * * * * "Do you have another bottle of bourbon, old man?" "No, I'm afraid not," Devere said. "There was only that one bottle." "Too bad. We should have a little celebration." The bald man began sealing himself into his spacesuit. "I'll wait for you here," his partner said. "I'd better start burning those plans." Martin Devere looked up from the fragment of ceramic he was cleaning. "You're going to send the message now?" Neither of the men bothered to reply, since the answer was self-evident. The bald man tested the air and power equipment of his suit, then turned to his partner a moment before sealing his helmet. "You checked the sandcat's power supply?" "Yes, but you'd better take another look at it. I think the battery's leaking." The bald man nodded and went out the airlock. Martin Devere watched in silence as the other man began to gather up his diagrams and plans and tie them into a neat bundle. "I guess we can take it easy now, Pop. As soon as that telegram's sent and I get this stuff burned, my partner and I are unemployed. Of course we'll have to hang around a while longer in case they want us to shoot off Baby out there, but there's nothing to that. In the meantime maybe I can help you dig up some more of those old pots and statues." Martin Devere seemed to be thinking. He watched as the tall man checked to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, then carried the bundle of plans over to the electronic oven. "_Baby._ You mean your bomb, out there. You think you might actually shoot it off then." "Oh, maybe, maybe not." "Couldn't they fire it from Earth by radio?" Devere asked. "Nope. Somebody might try jamming." "Oh, I see...." Martin Devere was silent again until the tall man opened the oven and removed a bundle of gray ash. He dumped the ashes into a bucket and began stirring them with his hand. "Something else I was wondering about," Devere said. He began cleaning the fragment of ceramic again, his hands working in a slow circular motion. "Supposing the United Governments find out where it--the bomb is. They might send a missile to blow it up." "Told you, Pop. Baby can out-run anything else that flies. Wouldn't do them any good." "Yes, yes.... Still, the missile would hit Mars, wouldn't it? I mean, it would destroy all this--the igloos, my diggings ..." The tall man gave a laugh. "Don't worry so much, Pop. We'd have plenty of time to get in the ship and clear out. We might even take you with us." "Still ..." But the old man lapsed again into thought. * * * * *