They cut the beaconship loose from its convoy five hundred miles out, which was sufficient for it to spiral in on the minimum of power it carried and land safely. Salvor-Jones and Smith had only to lie in their safety hammocks in the cramped temporary passenger cubicle. The ship would land by itself. Their duties began once it had established itself firmly on the bleak expanse of dark planet below them. They were to adjust the automatic controls, make tests, and generally see that the thing was as it should be for the lonely vigil that lay ahead. Three weeks, Salvor-Jones indicated, should be plenty of time for all this. When it was finished, they could send a patrol cruiser from Ganymede to pick them up. That was what he said but he was a very zealous man, and doted on thoroughness. The fact was that they were finished with the tests in seven and a half hours, and there was nothing to do, unhappily, for the remaining twenty days except to entertain themselves as best they could, and wait. It might be said that things went too smoothly. Professor Salvor-Jones was a smallish man with a square mustache of regulation black, and a lock of jet hair that hung at times over his left eye. He had a perpetual motion machine built into him, and a profound contempt for the normal pace of life. But worst of all, in view of his predicament, he had Knucklebone Smith. Salvor-Jones finished his checking at 1800 star time and came into the living compartment from the chill outer ship, or beacon, as it had now become. He blew on his hands, put away his check-sheet board, and stood uncertainly, gnawing his thumb and gazing at the spectacle of Smith hunkered silently in front of a portable radiant heater. Knucklebone was, as usual, the picture of contemplative suicide. "Well, well," said Salvor-Jones briskly. Smith made no answer. He swallowed thoughtfully, his Adam's apple convulsing, and continued to stare into the glowing sun of the heater. "We've not much to do from now on, I'm afraid," Salvor-Jones said, "until a starship passes within range. Then we'll be able to see how well it works." Smith nodded glumly. He was sulking. He had been assigned to assist, but this little man insisted on doing everything himself. Didn't trust a damn soul but himself. Pick up a tool and like as not he'd snatch it from your hand and leave you standing there watching him. Smith hated people like that. "Play chess?" Salvor-Jones asked. "I never played chess," Knucklebone Smith said. "Quite an assortment of games on board," Salvor-Jones said. "Checkers. Maybe you'd rather play checkers." "Never tried it." "Poker?" "No." Salvor-Jones sighed. He got out the animated slide pictures, set up the screen, and amused himself at length. The slides were mostly those of lightly clad females in warm climates, doing pleasantly idle things.