Sitting on the dull, metallic ice, the ship began to change. Under the urging of the two men, mechanical spiders, scuttling at impossible angles and hanging upside down like their arachnid prototypes, attacked the structure of the tower. They crawled along the edges of one of Deepstar's four protruding arms and, with particle-beam torches flaring blue-white, cut through all the girders on one internal vertex. On the other side of the structure they modified the density and molecular format of the material until it could flex along oneplane. When they finished, the nacelle swung slowly open, exposing its contents to the outer world.
Sealock and Krzakwa unfolded the arms of the crane, extending the slender, shining manipulators down to the ice so that the machine could walk itself into an upright position. The first real step in unloading the ship was, perhaps, also the most tedious. It was necessary for the barely mobile crane to attach and lower its own components, in order for it to assemble itself into its real, complex shape, to walk into magical life.
Assembled, its various segments unfolded, the crane was a huge, square thing of rods and pulleys that rumbled about on heavy treads. It crawled around the base of Deepstar, lifting down poles and cargo pods and the endlessly refolded fasciae that would become dome bases. When most of the smaller items that made up their manifest were piled haphazardly on the ice, it was time to begin a major task: Sealock and Krzakwa set up a relay module from which they ran a network of wire-thin power conduits, black spaghetti scattering formlessly around them, growing into a structured web. This was not yet an environment that could tolerate even narrowcast energy. There was still plenty of ambient neon gas around, enough to absorb and reradiate the contents of a strong microwave beam. They set up a trivetlike base about a kilometer from the ship. It was the surface mounting platform for the hot, heavy fusion reactor. They installed the insulating-field generator that would keep its heat from getting at the ice, then decided to break for lunch.
Inside, Tem and Brendan sprawled on the edge of the crater room, dank and sweaty, tired more from the idea of hard work than its reality, and ate. They were joined by the remainder of the crew. To Sealock, they seemed oddly posed, almost as if they were waiting for commands. Cornwell, stung by the curt dismissal that his attempt at volunteering for work had brought, said, "Well. Are you ready to let us participate yet?"
Brendan looked up from his vulturelike pose over a bowl of noodles and cheese and peered quizzically at the musicianfrom eyes almost hidden beneath shaggy, red-blond brows. Hadn't the man been paying attention? He seemed to remember there being more than just himself out there. . . . Now what? Oh. He grinned, said, "Sure," and slurped up another butter-slimed mouthful. Harmon looked back and forth between their faces for a moment, sensing some oddity going on, then asked, "You've gotten a good look out there. What do you think of our new home?" Sealock turned to stare at him. "I think it's Hat."
Demogorgon looked at him reproachfully. "Brendan . . . be nice."
"Well, what the hell does he expect me to say? I mean, really! Sometimes I feel like I'm up to my asshole in all this bullshit...."
"How appropriate," murmured Hu, with a malevolent, slit-eyed smile. Sealock glared at her for a second, then let his face relax into a toothy grin. "You just love it when I talk dirty, don't you?"
"People . . ." Cornwell said.
Turning to look at him, Brendan said, "Still want your question answered? There are five worksuits aboard. In order to do anything useful, you'll need one of them, so three of you can help, at any given time. If anyone else wants anything to do, there's off-line data analysis to be done." He shook his head, grinning. "I really don't know why anyone would want to be in on this . . . it's mostly going to be an exercise in tedium."
"I'll do some of the data work," said Ariane.
"Leave me out of this," said Jana stiffly. "I still have a lot of work to do on the IAAU report."
"OK. That leaves Vana, Demo, John, Harmon, Axie, and me," said Beth. "Shall we do a random choice?"
"Sure," said Prynne.
A quick peek at the 'net's pseudorandom number generator selected John, Demogorgon, and Axie. Consulting the machinery was a very important arbitration method among them, and they all realized that it would be pointless andharmful to question its outcome. In this case, everyone seemed satisfied with the results.
Sealock scaled his dish toward a vent intake, which snatched it expertly from the air. Tiny globules of oil, which in weightlessness would have followed it, fell away and began to drift about like dust motes. Sooner or later the circulation filters would get them, or somebody's lungs would. "Let's go," he said. They stood, and Ariane said, "You know, when this is all finished, we should have some sort of a real ceremony; maybe a celebration. . . ."
Vana spun around suddenly, buoyant brown breasts swaying. "I know! Let's have an orgy!"
"That's not quite what I had in mind."
John laughed. "Hell, why not? Long as everyone's willing. . . ." Grinning, Sealock stretched, muscles rolling heavily beneath his skin. "A true Berenguerism. Never fails. Steamy crotch juice for the frozen man . . ."
Demogorgon snickered at the purloined and altered imagery. The ancient poem had been part of the original inspiration for the Illimitor World and, with a little effort, he remembered the original verse. " 'My favorite water,' huh?"
Sealock bellowed with coarse amusement.
Ariane, standing close to him, suddenly murmured, "Brendan, could I talk to you alone?" He looked down at her, his smile fading, and said, "Later."
The astrodyne, built by KMS Fusion System's Aerospace Division at their big, dangerous factories not far from Gamma-enclave Kosmograd II in geosynchronous orbit, was mounted in an exterior pod roughly on the opposite side of Deepstar from the nacelle they'd opened to liberate the crane. It was an octagonal cylinder four meters in diameter by about six long, and housed the heart of their new colony—a 50,000-megawatt, self-maintaining peak-pulse toroidal fusion reactor. External field coils were a thing of the past and the thing had virtually no moving parts. Assuming plenty of fuel, its projected life span was in excess of a hundred thousand years,though the manufacturer would not even guarantee a century of trouble-free operation.