“We have enough air, tank switching, to stay in our suits for forty hours. And we can probably find compatible air tanks at the spaceport, though that’s not certain. Standard German ones won’t fit.
“Still, we could probably make time, perhaps indefinitely. Find or make a hyperbaric chamber, keep the inside of it sterile. If the shuttle is down but repairable, Michaels and Washington and I might be able to fix it.
“If that doesn’t work, we still have a slim chance. Antarctica.” New New was in regular contact with the scientists trapped there. “The Mercedes can land on its tail, though it takes a level surface and a steady hand. Even if we can’t get into orbit, we might be able to fly it like a floater. Or actually find a floater that could get us there.”
“I thought there weren’t any working floaters in Europe or Africa,” Ten said.
“There aren’t, but that’s because the power net’s been destroyed. With three good engineers we should be able to jury-rig a portable power source.”
“What happens when we get down there?” Goodman asked. “Take the place over from the scientists?”
“No; we’ve made a deal with them. They’ll share their supplies with us until a rescue mission can be staged. That probably wouldn’t be until Deucalion comes in. But we could make it. Then they’d come back with us.”
“Five years,” O’Hara said.
“They say the penguins are fascinating,” Berrigan said. “Never get tired of watching them.” She turned off the cube. “That’s it. Any questions?”
“This is all happening so fast,” O’Hara said. “Nobody’s explained why we have to go down there in the first place. I’m no engineer, but it seems to me there must be a dozen ways we could stop them from up here—I mean, that bomb has to be in actual contact with New New, doesn’t it?”
“That’s right. If we could make it detonate even a kilometer or two away, it would just be so much extra sunshine.”
Goodman scratched his head. “So why don’t we just shoot the goddamn thing with a laser?”
“That would work if they came in slowly enough. A mining laser would at least scramble their electronics, maybe detonate the bomb prematurely, or defuse it. But they’ll be coming in at as much as thirty kilometers per second; we can’t get enough energy flux on target. That’ll be tried, of course, if we fail in Africa. We can also put a wall of dust and rock in their way, using a mass driver, which would be even more effective, if they’re stupid enough not to make evasive maneuvers. But even if we fill the ship with holes, kill them all, the bomb might still make it through. And it’s not just the bomb; when it goes off it’ll ignite all the deuterium and tritium in the ship’s fuel tanks. That’s enough to blow New New into gravel.
And melt the gravel.”
Nothing eventful happened during the five days it took them to spiral in to low Earth orbit. They did a lot of calisthenics, enjoyed unusually good food, read the Mercedes manual with some interest. Twice they took jolts of amphetamine, so they would be ready for the drug’s effects when they landed.
O’Hara got fairly close to Coordinator Berrigan, not just because they were the only women. Berrigan had also been given a year on Earth, to study, twenty years before, and like O’Hara she had chosen NYU in New York City. They hadn’t had any academic work in common, since O’Hara was in American Studies and Berrigan pursued systems analysis. But they’d both had the City—fabulous, sinister, challenging.
They got into their spacesuits just before the ship started biting air, to brake for its final approach. O’Hara was vaguely annoyed to see that Berrigan’s spacesuit was the catheter type.
4 
It was a bumpy ride, screaming in over the African jungle, and there was a bad moment when they came down onto the concrete strip, perhaps a shade too fast, the strip still wet from the morning rain. The shuttle started to fishtail, and Berrigan slapped a button that released an emergency parachute. It probably saved them from slithering off the runway, but they were all slammed painfully forward into their restraining straps. Michaels hit the inside of his helmet hard enough to knock himself out for a few moments; O’Hara felt like one blue bruise from shoulders to hips.
Then they were rolling calmly along, engines throbbing a high-pitched whine. About a kilometer from the end of the runway, the Mercedes shimmered in the hot damp air.
“Well, it hasn’t left yet,” Berrigan said, over the helmet intercom. Before they entered the atmosphere, New New had told them that it was still on the pad. They didn’t know how close the Germans were, though; the telescope had lost track of them soon after they got to North Africa.
“Might as well unbuckle. You four with guns get ready to jump out as soon as we stop.” The engines quit and they rolled silently to a halt. “Go!”
The inner door of the airlock was open. Goodman spun the wheel on the outer one and a crack of bright sunlight appeared; then a solid hard square of it. The exit ladder slid out and unfolded with agonizing slowness.
Goodman was the first out, scrambling down the ladder, pointing his gun this way and that. “Nobody here,” he said when he got to the ground.
O’Hara followed close behind him. The area did look deserted, and the jungle was reclaiming it. Thick under-growth lapped over the edges of the runway, and here and there the concrete had cracked, grass muscling up through it.
She had never used a spacesuit in gravity before. It felt like being wrapped up in stiff heavy bindings. She hoped they wouldn’t have to move fast.
It took twenty minutes to get to the Mercedes shuttle. By that time O’Hara was breathing hard, cold with evaporated sweat. The air conditioner was working unevenly, with cold spots on her chest and under her chin, but her back was warm and clammy.
“Trouble,” Berrigan said, pointing into the jungle beyond the Mercedes. “People in there.” Her amplified voice boomed out. “We mean you no harm. Just stay away from us.”
A single arrow arced toward them, falling far short. Goodman raised his gun but Berrigan pushed the nozzle down. “No. Not yet—Ten, you repeat what I said.”
Ten shouted a loud string of Swahili. A high-pitched voice answered him. “He says they know we’re from the Worlds; they know we’re the ones who killed their parents. If we don’t leave they’ll kill us.”
“Tell them we’ll leave when we’re ready to. Then all four of you fire into the air.”
While Ten was talking, two more arrows sailed in, falling only a few meters short One skidded along the concrete and came to rest almost at Ten’s feet. When he stopped talking he picked up the arrow and broke it. Then the guns roared and he spoke again.
“I told them to throw their weapons on the ground and leave. That if they hinder us we’ll burn down the jungle with them in it.”
“Good. I hope they believe it.” After a minute seven or eight children, one of them conspicuously tall, stepped out of the bush and threw down a collection of bows, arrows, and spears. The little ones ducked immediately back into shelter, but the tall one shook a spear at them, shouting, and then buried the spear in the ground. He stood with his back to them for a minute and walked slowly into the bush.
“Some sort of a curse?” Berrigan asked.
“I imagine. Some dialect I don’t know.”
“Well… everybody keep a lookout while I do the systems check.”
At the entrance to the lift there was a human skull and crossed femurs. She kicked them away and slapped a red button. The lift hummed and the doors began to slide open. “Well, at least…my God. Look at this.”