"Look here, Oz," Tex started in, as soon as he had shaken off the water, "do you really think she's taking us to the Astarte?"
"Could be. Probably is."
"Do you think there is a chance that we will find the ship intact?" asked Matt.
"Not a chance. Not a chance in this world. On one point alone, she couldn't possibly have any fuel left in her tanks. You saw what happened to the jeep. What do you think a century has done to the Astarte?" He paused and looked thoughtful. "Anyhow, I'm not going to get my hopes up, not again. I couldn't stand it, three times. That's too many."
"I guess you're right," agreed Matt. "It won't do to get excited. She's probably a mound of rust under a covering of vines."
"Who said anything about not getting excited?" Oscar answered. "I'm so excited I can hardly talk. But don't think of the Astarte as a possible way to get back; think of her historically."
"Yow think of it that way," said Tex. "I'm a believer and a hoper. I want to get out of this dump."
"Oh, you'll get out! They'll come find us some day-and then they'll finish the mission we flubbed."
"Look," answered Tex, "couldn't we go off duty and not think about the mission just for the next quarter of a mile? These insects are something fierce-you think about Oscar and I'll think about Mother Jarman's favorite son. I wish I was back in the good old Triplex."
"You were the guy that was always beefing that the Triplex was a madhouse."
"So I was wrong. I can be big about it."
They came to one of the rare rises in the level of the ground, all of ten feet above water level. The natives started to whisper and lisp excitedly among themselves. Matt caught the Venerian word for "tabu." "Did you get that, Oz?" he said in Basic. "Tabu."
"Yes. I don't think she told them where she was taking, them."
The column stopped and spread out; the three cadets moved forward, pushing rank growth aside and stepped in a clearing.
In front of them, her rakish wings festooned in vines and her entire hull sheathed in some translucent substance, was the Patrol Rocket Ship Astarte.
XVII HOTCAKES FOR BREAKFAST
THE CITY MOTHEB was standing near the door of t Astarte, underneath the starboard wing. Two of her people: were working at the door, using bladders to squirt some
liquid around the edges. The translucent layer over the hull melted away wherever the liquid touched it. They grasped a free edge of the skin stuff and began to peel it away. "Look at that," said Tex. "Do you see what they've done? The ship is Venusized."
His use of the term was loose; an item that has been "planetized" is one that has been rendered stable against certain typical conditions of the planet concerned, as defined by tests of the Bureau of Standards-for example, an item listed in the colonial edition of the Sears & Montgomery catalog as "Venusized" is thereby warranted to resist the excessive humidity, the exotic fungi, and certain of the planet's pests. The Astarte was merely encased in a sheath. '
"Looks like it," agreed Oscar, his voice carefully restrained. "Sort of a spray-gun job."
"Five gets you ten it never saw a spray gun. The Venerians did it" Tex slapped at an insect. "You know what this means, Oz?"
"I'm way ahead of you. Don't get your hopes up. And don't try to get mine up, either. A hundred years is a long tune."
"Oz, you don't get any fun out of life."
The little workers were having difficulties. The top of the door was much higher than they could reach; they were now trying to form two-high pyramids, but, having no shoulders to speak of, they were hardly built for the job. Matt said to Oscar, "Couldn't we give them a hand with that?"
"I'll see." Oscar went forward and suggested that the cadets take over the job of squirting on the solvent. The mother person looked at him,
"Canst thou grow a new hand, if needed?"
Oscar admitted that he could not.
"Then do not tamper with that which thou dost not understand."
Using their own methods the natives soon had the door cleared. It was latched but not locked; the door refused to open for a moment, then gave suddenly. They scrambled up into the airlock. "Wait a minute," Matt whispered. "Hadn't we better go easy? We don't know that the infection that got them is necessarily dead."
"Don't be silly," Tex whispered back. If your immunizations hadn't worked, you'd have been a sick chicken long ago."
"Tex is right, Matt. And .there's no need to whisper. Ghosts can't hear."
"How do you know?" objected Tex. "Are you a doctor of ghostology?"
"I don't believe in ghosts."
"I do. Once my Uncle Bodie stayed overnight-"
"Let's get on inside," Matt insisted.
The passageway beyond the inner door was dark, save for the light that filtered in through the lock. The air had a strange odor, not precisely foul but lifeless-old.
The control room beyond was dimly but adequately lighted; the light from outside filtered softly through the sheathing that still covered the quartz pilot's port. The room was very cramped. The cadets were used to roomy modern ships; the Astartes wings gave her a false impression of great size. Inside she was smaller than the jeep.
Tex began humming something about "-stout-hearted men-," then broke off suddenly. "Look at the darned thing!" he said. "Just look at it. To think they actually made an interplanetary jump in it. Look at that control board. Why, she's as primitive as a rowboat. And yet they took the chance. Puts you in mind of Columbus and the Santo Maria"
"Or the Viking ships," suggested Matt.
"There were men in those days," agreed Oscar, not very originally but with great sincerity.
"You can say that louder," commented Tex. "There's no getting around it, fellows; we were born too late for the age of adventure. Why, they weren't
even heading for a listed port; they just blasted off into the dark and trusted to luck that they could get back."
"They didn't get back," Oscar said softly.
"Let's talk about something else," Matt requested. "I'm covered with goose pimples as it is."
"Okay," Oscar concurred, "I'd better get back and see what her royal nibs is doing anyway." He left, to return almost at once, accompanied by the city mother. "She was just waiting to be invited," he called out ahead of them, in Basic, "and huffy at being forgotten. Help me butter her up."
The native official turned out to be helpful; except for the control room the other spaces were dark, even to her. She stepped to the door, made known her wants, and returned with one of the glowing orange spheres they used for lighting. It was a poor excuse for a flashlight, but about as effective as a candle.
Everywhere the ship was orderly and clean, save for a faint film of dust. "Say what you like, Oscar," commented Matt, "I'm beginning to get my hopes up. I don't believe there is anything wrong with her. It looks as if the crew had just gone out for a walk. We may be able to put her in commission."
"I'm ready to throw in with Oscar," Tex objected. "I've lost my enthusiasm- I'd rather go over Niagara Falls in a barrel."
"They flew her," Matt pointed out
"Sure they did-and my hat's off to them. But it takes heroes to fly a box as primitive as this and I'm not the hero type."
The mother-of-many lost interest presently and went outside. Tex borrowed the orange sphere and continued to look around while Matt and Oscar gave the control room a careful going over. Tex found a locker containing small, sealed packages marked "Personal effects of Roland Hargraves," "Personal effects of Rupert H. Schreiber," and other names. He put them back carefully.
Oscar shouted for him presently. "I think we had better get going. Her nibs hinted that when she left."
"Come see what I've found. Food!"
Matt and Oscar came to the door of the galley storeroom. "Do you suppose any of it is any good?" asked Matt.
"Why not? It's all canned. Jigger for me and we'll find out." Tex operated with a can opener. "Phewey!" he said presently. "Anybody want to sample some embalmed corned beef hash? Throw it outside, Matt, before it stinks up the place."